


fly me to the moon (just try not to get killed)

by hyengold



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Space, Attempt at Humor, Chan is tired, Kim Seungmin is a Little Shit, Lee Minho | Lee Know is Whipped, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pirates, Space Pirates, Superpowers, aren't we all, changbin is a little shit, i basically signed up for death writing this, idk what happened to hyunjin, jeongin is trying, jisung is just adorable, jisung makes lame earth meme references, kind of, minho is trying his best, the author is bad at writing action, the author is sorry, this fic can be alternatively titled 'a string of jisung's bad choices', too many classical references to be healthy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:00:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 32,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24832741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyengold/pseuds/hyengold
Summary: Minho suppresses a sigh. Calculatively, he makes a move. “I have a deal to make with you.”The boy folds his arms. “Shoot.”Minho leans forward, looking the boy in the eye. “If you can get me off this planet, and back to my homeworld safely-” he feels around his finger, grasping a single ring, and elegantly pulls it off. The design is basic, with a simple pattern carved into the top, but the material itself is the showstopper, with miniature galaxies and subsize supernovas exploding within its core. The boy’s eyes widen as they register the iridescent sheen of a substance so precious wars have been fought over it. Exactly the reaction Minho is digging for.“-you can be a rich man,” Minho completes with utmost confidence.Or: Minho is on the run. Somehow, he ends up in the cargo bay of theBroken Compass, way out of his element. Amongst the danger he has to keep at bay, and the secrets he has to guard, the loud, endearingly genuine boy that throws his senses into a disarray isn't helping at all.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 39
Kudos: 103
Collections: MINSUNG BINGO: Round One, Minsung





	1. Stowaway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if only i was this dedicated to my school work lmao
> 
> so i told myself i wanted to publish something, _anything_ for stray kids' comeback, and somehow my overambitious mind decided on finishing and publishing,,, t h i s monstrosity instead of literally anything else. alas, who knew soon after i would be figuratively slapped in the face with a state-sanctioned 5 days medical certificate, leaving me to do two school projects i have due by thursday but PFFT who cares about those,,,
> 
> before i get started on anything i MUST thank the multitude of people i have requested to review this behemoth in lieu of my insecurity in writing basically anything but fluff: K, [riley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaiyak/pseuds/kaiyak), [hannah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oonymay/pseuds/oonymay), [kaylee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kairipopa/pseuds/Kairipopa), and [krix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starluvrji/pseuds/starluvrji). thank you all so much for reading through and giving me the motivation to write this, even if it's only a third of the way through, i love you all so much. (especially krix, thank you so much for dealing with my sleepy meds-induced rubbish the night before this and not holding back on your feedback, if i could pay you for beta-ing i would for sure.)
> 
> in any case, this baby is, surprise surprise, another minsung bingo submission! certainly my most ambitious one to date and set to be my most ambitious one ever. the tropes contain spoilers but ah well: **au - pirates, au - superpowers, bar/club scene, free space (au - space)**
> 
> this has been quite the journey of discovery for me, a writer who is used to hiding herself within the opaque bubble of pure fluff. i'll warn you beforehand that action and setting and long-term commitments aren't really my strong suits, but in any case, i hope you enjoy!

Minho races through the grey streets, dodging through the crowd. Blood roars in his ears, louder than he’s ever heard before. Each lurking shadow seems to reach out, attempting to grab onto him, lying in wait to trap him in their bonds once more. His lungs are screaming for breath, his muscles are aching with ferocity, but he does not stop running. He cannot stop running.

His foot catches and he tips forward, barely catching himself with his hands and immediately scrambling up. Left turn. Right turn. Run straight, second left, third right — he has no idea where he’s going; as long as it’s _away_.

Minho leaps over a second-hand hoverpod — banks left — breathes out a prayer to find some large agora to get lost in, to finally stop and catch his breath, makes a right. Breathless, he weaves in and out, constantly looking behind him to make sure his pursuers have not discovered him. He needs to get off this godforsaken planet, and _fast_. Already he is attracting too many stares in his current clothing. He must get away, he must find a ship dock, anything with an interplanetary transport. 

Minho has no idea where to find one. 

He deciphers a sign written in the local vernacular, drawing from hours upon hours of gruelling lessons, tentatively making another turn. Not daring to ask for help ( _do not leave a trail_ ), he marches forward at full speed-

_Bang!_

Minho stumbles back. Adrenaline is the only thing that keeps him on his feet. His hand instinctively flies to his side and grasps for the hilt he doesn't have as his eyes flicker up. 

A boy, knocked on the floor from the force of the collision. Shocked, wide-eyed, and in front of a ship dock, a boy gapes openly at Minho. He has an almost deceivingly childish appearance, fluffy head of brown hair and deep umber eyes, clad in a multipurpose vest and baggy cargo pants, totalling to a number of _too many_ pockets. "... What the hell?" he demands. He opens his mouth to say more, but Minho hears heavy footsteps in the near distance. A fresh wave of urgency overtakes him. He _must not_ be found.

His hands grab the boy's vest firmly, pulls him in closer. "Hide me," Minho commands, with all the superiority he can force into his struggling breath.

The boy only stares at him. “What?” There’s a youthful spark that Minho would have taken and admired at any other time, but _no, he must get away, he must hide_ -

With even more desperation Minho grips at the flimsy cloth between his fingers, as if the threadbare item itself could shield and veil him. He gazes deep into the boy’s eyes, panic rising with every passing second. _Each second lost is one credit gone, boy_ . Placing his trust into this one chance of salvation is _too risky_ ; betting on something as flimsy and capricious as human connection is laughable. Yet he swallows down his regal pride and regurgitates it bare for the boy to see. “Please,” exhales Minho.

Something clicks within the boy’s eyes of naivete. Pity, understanding, sympathy — Minho doesn’t care, as long as it gets him out. “Follow me,” he says, slipping out of Minho’s grasp just as easily as he got in. Minho’s glimpses a holster bumping limply against his waist.

The boy slips an access card out of his back pocket and silently slides it into the scanner, which obediently lights up green. The grey door glides open with a hiss. So the boy _does_ have access to a ship; a feat for someone this young. Without another word Minho walks in hastily. 

Dim, faulty lights flicker to life, illuminating a small, dank space, surrounded by dull metal walls. There are the basic furnitures, made out of cheap grey material, a large table spilling with all sorts of knickknacks, all of varying levels of _poor_ , and a corridor in the back Minho is half sure connects to a ship bay.

"Sorry for the mess." The boy does not sound apologetic in the slightest. 

Minho does not deign to answer. Instead, he turns around a few more times, noting the strength of the door and walls, or rather the lack thereof, and how little places there are to duck out of sight. "Are you sure no one can find me here?" he asks aloud. 

The boy shrugs. "Who knows. The guy we rented the dock from is pretty influential, so whoever's chasing you probably won't want to barge in here on a wild goose chase. Unless, of course, you didn't manage to shake them." 

Minho shakes his head once. "No, I'm quite sure I lost them." 

The boy nods affirmatively. "Then you should be fine." He twirls and lands on one of the chairs, the display of a flighty spirit, leaning back and gazing confidently at Minho. "So, what brings you around here?" 

Minho is very much _not_ used to being treated with such a gaze, although he was subjugated not even an hour ago. The unabashed authority, the self-righteous superiority, from such a figure as _him_ rubs Minho in all the wrong ways; until he realises the boy _does_ hold great power over him. One wrong move, and Minho will be shoved back into the open to once again be subjected to the wills and whims of fate. No. He cannot have that. 

However, he contemplates, he also cannot tell his story in its entirety. Considering he doesn't even _know_ this boy, the risks brought by a revelation are also equally high.

“I was taken captive,” he decides to say. “I need to get off this backwater planet.”

A raised eyebrow, challenging. “Very ambiguous. I’m going to need more details.”

Minho suppresses a sigh. What other information could he use? He recalls how thin the boy’s clothes felt in his hands. Calculatively, he makes a move. “I have a deal to make with you.”

The boy folds his arms. “Shoot.”

Minho leans forward, looking the boy in the eye. “If you can get me off this planet, and back to my homeworld safely-” he feels around his finger, grasping a single ring, and elegantly pulls it off. The design is basic, with a simple pattern carved into the top, but the material itself is the showstopper, with miniature galaxies and subsize supernovas exploding within its core. The boy’s eyes widen as they register the iridescent sheen of a substance so precious wars have been fought over it. Exactly the reaction Minho is digging for.

“-you can be a rich man,” Minho completes with utmost confidence.

That confidence was not unfounded. Minho can already see the numbers running in the boy’s head as he stares at the ring, sparkling in the light before him, numbers he’s probably never even seen in his wildest dreams. “You- you have Levantarium,” he stammers, any prior smugness all shattered by the new revelation. “That’s… _wow_ . You’re… _WOW_ . That’s-” a near delirious laugh escapes his lips. Minho was never fond of the insanity money can drive people to, but since it’s working in his favour, his conscience graciously allows it. “That’s crazy rich. Not just crazy, like, crazy _crazy_ rich.”

“Yes,” Minho replies simply. “And you have my honour that you will be paid handsomely for my return.”

The boy stays silent, still staring at the ethereally glimmering Levantarium. Minho can tell already that he’s weighing pros and cons, and he tries not to show just how jittery he is of his chances. They are not high.

“Okay,” the boy says. “Deal.”

Minho opens his mouth to blurt out one of the ten arguments he’s summoned in his head; then the words go to his mind. “What?”

The boy looks resolutely into Minho’s eye. The power has shifted once more. “It’s a deal.”

Minho blinks mutely. He forgets how casually reckless sentients can be; the most recklessness he’s seen is in uncontrollable fits of rage in heated discussions to satiate one’s greed. “Wonderful,” he says. “When do we leave?”

"When the captain returns," the boy responds easily, checking his analog. "He and the crew should be back from a supply run soon.”

“Ah,” Minho observes shortly. So he still has a captain to convince. Hopefully he will be just as beguiled by the precious metal around his neck as this young man was. “Is there any chance a name can be disclosed?” It’s always good to know the identity of any unfamiliar counterpart. Names hold power.

Unfortunately, this boy seems well aware of that as well. “Not a chance, I’m afraid.” He shoots Minho what looks to be a disarming smile. Thank goodness Minho is all too used to overworked charms and deceptive fronts. “Try again next time.”

Something rustles from outside the door. Minho’s eyes instantly fly to the sole entrance to the premises. Two muffled, but distinct voices.

“ _I told you to use the other card! That one’s defective!”_

_“I swear on the five moons it works, it just needs time.”_

_“Time my ass!”_

… is that _bickering_? 

_‘The crew’_ , Minho muses. _How impressive_.

The doors slide open once more. It gets caught halfway. A foot kicks loudly at the door, startling both the occupants.

“Stupid… dumb… piece of scrap…” a voice curses grumpily. Two sentients waddle in with various paraphernalia in their hands. The one in front is noticeably shorter, wearing what appears to be a mechanic’s apparel, Minho can even see the grease stains on his jacket sleeves, and if he had to bet, he’d confidently wager that the gloves on the table in the corner were his beloved belongings. Behind the mechanic is a head of blond hair, worn away by stress and worry, but Minho only sees gentle warmth emanating from his eyes, like gentle sunlight on a pleasant summer day. He judges based on the authoritative aura in his movements that he would be the captain, but his humble clothing of a simple vest and baggy pants don’t belie it at all.

The boy brightens immediately. “Captain! You’re back!”

The blond sentient straightens, a frown on his face. “Jisung? You never call me that unless-” he freezes as his eyes land on Minho. Instantly those warm eyes harden into stone. “Hello.”

Minho rises from his seat, as per courtesy. The captain seems to take this the wrong way though, as he instantly tenses and his right hand drops his baggage and reaches for his blaster. Startled, Minho raises his hands in a peaceable motion, while the boy, Jisung, scrambles to shield Minho. “Captain, no! I let him in.”

“Oh, like anything you’ve passed judgement on has ever had a good result,” the mechanic snorts. “May I remind you of the _coolant_ _incident_?”

Jisung instantly scowls. “May _I_ remind you that _we don’t talk about it_.” This inevitably piques Minho’s curiosity even more.

“Doesn’t matter,” the captain intervenes in what Minho perceives from his tired expression as a common occurrence. “He’s already been let in, but I’d side with Gear on this; there’d better be a good reason for this.”

Jisung tentatively twists his hands together. “Well… he has a job for us.”

The mechanic openly eyes Minho up and down, clearly noting Minho’s quality of style and dressing. Minho has utmost confidence that the gold chains that line his chest and adorn his clothings do nothing to abate the large sum clearly accumulating in Gear's head. “With that sort of get-up, he’d _better_ have a good payment. I’ve been trying to upgrade the systems for _ages_ but all the good stuff is always too expensive.”

“That’s enough out of you, Gear,” the captain says, a bit sharply. He studies Minho much more analytically, as a predator would circle its prey. Minho, however, is not weak nor defenceless. “What do you have to offer?”

Minho nods. He’s been expecting this question. “As I’ve said before, I pledge upon my honour that if you manage to return me back to my home planet, you will be paid very, very handsomely.”

The captain contemplates this. “Your honour is a very feeble thing to promise upon,” he observes astutely. “Contrary to what you may believe, I am neither desperate nor a fool. Jisung-” he turns to the boy in question, “-it was a mistake to agree to him. Bring him out now.”

Panic overtakes Minho’s system. They can deny his claim, but he absolutely _must not_ go outside, not now. “Captain,” he says hastily, stature crumbling to bits in the matter of nothing but seconds, “I admit, my honour is indeed feeble, and I respect your shrewdness and care for your crew, but I implore of you: please do not send me out. I can find another vessel to deliver me and receive the due payment instead, but at least allow me to seek refuge here, while you are still present.”

The captain still gazes doubtfully upon Minho. Jisung slowly approaches the captain, and whispers something into his ear. The captain’s hard expression does not change during the exchange. Minho awaits with bated breath, ready to make the next move should he have to. Jisung must be talking about the Levantarium. He has to be.

A few more beats of silence. Then the captain breathes harshly through his nose. “Fine,” he says gruffly. “But I want you to know that you’ll be vouching for him, Jisung. You’re the one who brought him here, you’ll be _personally_ responsible for whatever outcome this has.”

Jisung just stares back with stubborn conviction. “It will have a good outcome, I’m sure of it,” he insists.

“Where is your homeworld?” the captain addresses Minho once more.

“Levanter,” Minho replies. He pauses as he watches for reactions. If this particular crew feels any animosity towards his planet. Whether they would feel indifferent enough to hold to their purely transactional business, without any interference of personal vendettas. Minho admits, it is hard to find people like those, but he seems to have struck the jackpot, when Gear does nothing more than raise an eyebrow, clearly unsurprised due to the wealthiness Minho's outfit exudes. The captain himself just nods thoughtfully. “When do we leave?” Minho asks.

“That is not up to you to decide,” the captain retaliates, asserting dominance well in the face of Minho’s own authoritative presence. “We leave in an hour.”

That’s fine. As long as Minho gets out of here, fast. 

The captain nods to Jisung and Gear, who instantly head to the ship bay, presumably to prepare for departure. He turns to Minho. “While we set up, you may as well make yourself useful; what’s the point of flying one more body if that body isn’t able?” He gestures to the tables full of supplies, which Minho can now see is food. “I trust that you know how to do basic lifting.”

The scorn in the statement was clearly to make Minho bristle, but the most it did was make him miffed. Minho stands up, and starts picking items up with his hands. Almost subconsciously, another package shivers and lifts up in the air. Minho’s eyes widen. _Curses_. The package slams down.

Schooling his face once more into a neutral expression Minho makes his way into the ship bay, items in hand.

It’s once more dimly lit, as the hatch hasn’t been opened. Besides the flickering lamps lining the bay walls Minho spies two telltale flashes of tiny lights, handheld by Jisung and Gear as they navigate the expanse of the ship which… isn’t much. It makes sense, in hindsight, that a small crew would run a small ship. Along the hull, silver text glows in the weak light, _Broken Compass._ What a name, Minho muses. She’s not that much of a beauty, the exterior has definitely seen better days, its dark metal surface filled with so many scratches and blemishes it’s hard to tell what _isn’t_ damaged, but even so Minho can tell it’s been lovingly polished. Dark surface. _Hm._

Curiously Minho approaches the frigate, eyeing it up and down appraisingly. In the half-light, it almost seems like a shadow, looming over Minho’s own body, dwarfed in comparison. His eyes squint and focus in the darkness.

A gasp rips from his mouth.

All across the black metal, small veins of white run, forming concentric and geometric patterns. The symbol of Elysium.

The symbol of pirates.

* * *

_Travel log, day 1_ , Minho thinks in his head, _I’m hitchhiking with a trio of criminals_.

The Old Minho would rather have had his precious ship destroyed than be caught with outlaws of any kind. Now that Minho’s ship has actually been destroyed, he likes to think he’s become the New Minho.

He’s sitting in the interior cargo bay of the ship, next to Jisung, who looks just as blithe as ever, seemingly unaware that Minho is internally losing any and all of his calmness. Typically a ship would have a recreational area and sleeping quarters, but clearly the captain doesn't trust Minho enough to allow him access to such intimate places. Understandable. 

Minho gazes around the cargo bay. As much as he's horrified by the cultural meaning the design in itself is quite beautiful, from an objective perspective. Much like its exterior the inside of the ship has equally dark walls, and if Minho hadn’t known the significance of the white patterns that run across them like congruous blood vessels, he’d almost think it were some sort of majestic monument.

Alas, if only that were the case.

The speaker system emits an ear-splitting squeal. Minho hides a wince. Gear’s voice echoes across the cargo bay. “Hello, and welcome on board the _Broken Compass_ ,” he reports, like a bot on a civilian ship, albeit more monotonously. “This is a public safety announcement before we take off: we apologise to announce that we have a hazard on board that we have yet to find a solution to, so for now, all travellers on board are to steer clear of Jisung.” Jisung scowls almightily at that, and Minho would be damned if it doesn’t stir up something protective in his gut.

Huffily Jisung snatches up his analog, probably to hiss some choice words into, but the captain, from the other side of the bay, clears his throat, and Jisung slowly lowers his analog, a sulk on his lips. Childish, for a pirate, Minho observes. But he has to be of some worth to the crew. 

“By the way, this is your pilot speaking, because the captain is a loony moon that can’t fly his own goddamn ship better than I can,” Gear continues.

Now it’s the captain’s turn to look annoyed. “Changbin…” he growls into his analog, so affronted that he momentarily loses his sense of the present. Huh. So that’s the mechanic’s name. 

“Sorry, Cap,” Changbin says cheerfully. A smile twitches on Minho’s lips. “Anyway, I’d also advise you to follow our safety regulations, but we’re a little too broke for that. Any lost or damaged cargo is your own fault. Have a happy flight!”

“Can we _please_ confiscate the speaker system from him,” Jisung asks wearily.

“I would, but unfortunately _he’s_ the only one that has the abilities to confiscate the speaker system,” the captain replies, equally weary. Minho wonders exactly what kind of pirate ship he's stumbled upon.

The bench that the crew of the Broken Compass generously provided for Minho vibrates under him as the engine rumbles to life. Subconsciously, his fingers curl and grip tightly at the edge of the dark metal, and his jaw clenches. He always _hates_ this part. He ignores the low humming of the engine for fear of hearing it stutter, focuses on the motifs tracing around his feet and tries his best to restrain his senses, keep them in check, _be calm, be composed_ -

The hissing of the hydraulics reaches Minho’s ears as the ship retracts its undercarriage, and mentally, he tells himself that the stabiliser is shifting into gear, there’s nothing to be afraid of. Even after all this time, the vexatious fear that creeps into his heart still manages to wrap around his throat so tight, squeezes so hard he has no breath left to breathe. The fact that he’s riding with pirates does nothing to assuage this serpentine fear.

The propellers kick in and suddenly Minho feels weightless, the lack of gravity beneath his feet very unnerving. He manages to steady his breathing as the ship ascends in the atmosphere. Just a little while to adjust to the artificial grav, and they’ll be fine.

With nothing more than a pleasant rumble the ship lifts out of the dock, and into the air. Minho's grip slackens. The worst is over. A soft hum ripples in Minho's ears as the craft gains altitude, breaking through the dark grey clouds and breaching the atmosphere. Minho shuts his eyes, praying silently to whatever supernatural deity who will listen. The loud roar of the ground boosters fades away, replaced by the muted growl of the interstellar engines. 

Minho lets his breath fully relax. He's out. 

“Hey, uh, Cap,” Changbin’s voice sounds once more from the speakers, but he sounds _nervous_. Something in Minho’s gut twists the wrong way. “I think we have a problem.”

Minho's heart starts beating furiously again, anxious, crazed. 

"I dunno how much our passenger is worth, but he's worth a real fuckin lot if he's got this big an entourage chasing us."

Minho’s breath catches so hard he nearly chokes. _Oh, shit._

The captain grips his analog tightly, shooting Minho a glare so poisonous a plant would wither under it. "How many, Gear?" he grits out. 

"Fuck, I dunno, like… six? Seven? A lot!" 

"I have half a mind to just throw you out and leave your pursuers to salvage what's left of your frostbitten body," the captain fumes at Minho, who merely gazes back. The fright that has settled in his bones traps his body in paralysis. 

"Cap! They're gaining on us!" 

The captain growls in frustration. "Jisung, lower aft!" he barks as the two race towards the cargo bay door. "I'm taking the top." 

And just like that, Minho is left alone in the cargo bay, with nothing but silence and sounds of faint ship blasters to accompany him. 

The solitude does nothing to comfort Minho. The exterior of the cargo bay groans. Even with the artificial grav he can still feel the G-force of the drastic evasive maneuvers Changbin’s taking. From afar, he hears the blasts get louder and louder. 

Frustrated he leaps up to his feet and starts pacing. Being in a pirate ship is bad enough, but being in a pirate ship in the middle of a galactic dogfight with no way to know what’s happening is almost mind-wrecking. His eyes, in their panicked glancing, dart over to the control panel. The control panel, that’s linked to the rest of the ship’s systems. Minho runs over.

“Comms, comms,” he mutters under his breath, fumbling shakily in his nervousness. He may not have much experience with ships, but at least he can navigate a simple touch-sensored panel.

Minho hits a button, and with tremendous sound the lights in the cargo bay go dark.

Right. So maybe scratch that last statement.

After a bit more tapping (thankfully the panel is luminescent), Minho is back in full brightness and patched into the comms. And it isn’t sounding good.

Jisung's voice breaks through the static. "Chan! On your left!"

"On it!" the captain, presumably Chan, yells back. "Keep an eye out on the bottom! They might try and come from under us!" 

"Hang on guys, I'm gonna-" Changbin cuts off as Minho feels himself _flip_ over. Two shots. A muted explosion. 

Jisung screams in jubilation. Despite himself a smile of hope edges onto Minho's lips. Maybe they _can_ get out of this-

Something violently rocks the ship. 

"Oh fuck- shield's down!" Changbin hollers. "Chan, get that fucker-" 

"Yep, yep! Getting that fucker-" Another explosion. A sigh. "That hit sounded expensive."

"We can think about expenses maybe _after_ we get out of this alive?" Jisung interrupts. "I'd prefer we have a damaged ship than no ship at all!" 

More firing. "Changbin, if you wanna get an opening, get it _now_!" Chan orders. "They're closing in fast, Sung and I can't hold them off for much longer!"

"I-I can't!" Changbin's voice seeps through with panic. "There's too many…" 

Chan's voice roars with anger, enough to make the flimsy speaker tremble. Three blasts. They sound decisive. "There! That's your opening, get us to light speed, go, go, go!" 

"But to where-" 

" _Just go_!"

The whirring sound of the lightspeed engine fills the craft, and Minho is filled with an inexplicable sense of dread.

* * *

The cargo bay door slides open. Minho instantly turns from his frantic pacing to see Jisung walk in, a glum look on his face. He tenses, expecting the captain to march in next with fury written all over his face, but the captain never appears. Minho turns to Jisung, silently prompting him.

“Changbin’s running scans,” Jisung informs Minho. “Cap’s with him. The damage seems bad, but fixable.”

This does nothing to ease Minho’s worries. If the damage sustained for the sake of his one being is bad enough, the captain could very well make good on his promise to toss Minho out at the first opportunity.

However... Minho can still be of value. The very thing that could save his hide is right here, on his finger.

“I’m terribly sorry for the losses I have caused to your crew,” he tells Jisung sincerely. He allows emotion to leak into his voice; after all, he _is_ genuine, just… genuine and _also_ not wishing to be thrown out into space. “I swear, I’ll make it up to you in expenses once you have returned me, specie for specie.”

A small, pleasant grin presents itself on Jisung’s face. “Geez, thanks,” he replies. Minho wrinkles his nose in bemusement; the expression Jisung used is so old the last person who used it must be fossilised somewhere on Terra by now. Usually Minho would cringe at such an old reference, but somehow when Jisung says it, it feels so natural Minho feels like it’s modern. It’s almost adorable.

“We’re good, though,” Jisung continues, and Minho feels real confusion cloud his mind. “Of course, it would be amazing if you’d pay us generously, but we still need some way to get our shield generator right now, don’t we? Something tells me you’re not just gonna offer up your Levantium in a gracious move to fund the parts we urgently need _now_.” Without waiting for Minho’s response (but Minho hates that he’s correct), he barrels on, “So basically, until we get you back to Levanter, you’re a dud.”

Minho tilts his head, bemused. "I don’t mean to impose, but, wouldn’t you show a little more respect to a person who has the mother lode?" Minho comments.

Jisung sends Minho a doubtful side eye. Minho’s eyes widen. That was not a good move. The boy shrugs. "Hey, I mean, I could always just choose to... not send you home, and not have any regrets. I don't doubt your 'honour', mister, but unlike what you may think money isn't the sole thing that occupies our minds."

"Huh," Minho chooses to say. What kind of pirates did he end up with, indeed.

The speakers squeak once more. “Hey, Sung, weather update,” Changbin’s rough voice echoes in the bay, followed by a very strong squealing noise. Minho and Jisung instantly clap their hands over their ears. “Asteria’s arse, I use you for the first time in five years and you give me this kind of attitude?” Minho tries not to smile at Changbin cursing out his ship’s own speaker system. “Anyways, the scan results don’t look pretty. Our shield generator’s blown through, whoever blasted it must have had a lucky shot. We’re lucky Chan told me to lightspeed away when he did, if not by my calculations we would have been molecular in the next, like, I dunno, five milli-seconds.” A shudder runs down Minho’s spine. The tone of Changbin’s voice tells him they’re used to these kind of close shaves. Honestly, how are they even alive at this point?

Jisung snatches up his analog. “Okay, so what’s the verdict, Bin?”

Fumbling noises come from the speakers. “The verdict, Sung,” Chan says, “is that we’re going to run a raid.”

Minho cannot hide the frown that overcomes his face as a thousand scenarios and possibilities flood his head at those words. Alas, he supposes, they _are_ pirates, after all.

* * *

"Target acquired!" Changbin announces after a few agonisingly long moments. Jisung glances up at the entrance, evidently waiting for further instructions. Sure enough, the silhouette of Chan appears at the bridge overlooking the cargo bay.

“C’mon, Jisung,” he says with an lively glint in his eye, motioning for Jisung to head up with him to what Minho can only guess is the cockpit. “We gotta go.”

Jisung scrambles to his feet. “What about him?” Minho’s senses perk up as the topic shifts to him.

Chan casts a baleful glare at Minho, clearly still resentful of the trouble Minho brought them just a few moments ago. Minho mentally notes that he needs to somehow pull Chan aside to placate him, at least enough to lessen the hostility in every glance he shoots Minho. “He can stay here.”

Jisung stiffens in protest. “But Cap, what if he tries to do something-”

“That, dear Hannie,” Chan replies, “is why I’m putting you in charge of the cockpit, where we have running surveillance cameras. You’ll be in charge of ferrying us out of the operation once we’ve got the goods.”

So Hannie is Jisung’s code name. Minho tries his best not to find it adorable. Jisung, alias Hannie, frowns. “Isn’t that Changbin’s job?”

The captain shakes his head. “Nu-uh. You vouch for him, you’re responsible for him, remember? Besides, the anti-gravs are acting up again and I don’t trust you to touch them, so Changbin’s coming along instead.”

“Oh come _on_ ,” Jisung whines. “You mess up _one_ coolant and _no-one_ trusts you with _anything_ anymore-”

“I promise you, this is _not_ about the coolants,” Chan sighs. “Now let’s go.” Without another word he walks back out of the cargo bay, clearly growing impatient.

“This is _totally_ about the coolants,” Jisung mutters under his breath as he walks towards the ladder to the bridge. He looks at Minho as he grabs the first rung. “You’d better not try any funny shit.”

Minho only blinks back innocently. “I’m almost offended you’d think I’d do anything to my only ride home.”

Jisung begrudgingly nods. “Good point. Still.” He points two fingers at his eyes and back again at Minho in the universal “ _I’m watching you_ ” sign. Minho simply raises his hands up amiably in a sign of surrender. Jisung climbs up the ladder, and exits the cargo bay.

If Minho’s being perfectly honest, he would be completely content sitting here, unmoving, waiting for the crew of the _Broken Compass_ to go about their task, except… what a task it is. To pull off a heist, as though consuming a daily meal… Minho has constantly been taught never to underestimate his counterparts, but even this is a stretch. A captain, a mechanic, and a youth, attacking a well-trained, fully equipped crew of presumably professional standards? Minho has to admit: he’s bursting with twisted curiosity about the outcome of this gamble. 

Although, he has to admit that they do have an advantage most others don’t have, something so effective Minho could almost consider it a crewmate with how essential it is… indeed, the ship in itself could change everything. Unbidden, his tutor droid’s words echo in the back of his head. 

_Elysium is the marker of a pirate ship because of its impressive camouflage properties. It is an extremely rare metal, found only on Elysia, the planet of eternal night, for which it is named after. Its export is banned by the Galactic Council. Its black-and-white makeup makes it hard to detect with the naked eye, especially in open space, and its unique atomic makeup makes it difficult for scanners to pick up, making it show up on radars as simply a glitch that can easily be mistaken for a passing asteroid._

Suddenly, the black surface beneath his feet seems all the more sinister.

All things considered, Minho can say with absolute certainty that they will attempt an ambush. With the right execution, even with just a trio, whichever ship they choose to strike could easily be the loser in the battle. A slight thrill runs down Minho’s spine at the sight of those odds. Truly, tipping the scales of power in such a drastic way brings a euphoria that he cannot put into words.

And yet, this is _theft_ . The wicked stealing from the righteous. The evil punishing the innocent. Alas, Minho cannot bother much about flighty moralities and virtues that waver in the air as mirages do, but if logic serves him correctly, if the _Broken Compass_ has sustained damage they’re more likely than not to target a sure-fire chance of gaining adequate repair materials… meaning a well-stocked frigate that would have high-grade parts. And what would be a better guaranteed chance than IPTA transport ships? The richest trade alliance in the known galaxy would certainly equip its ships with all the appropriate components to stand up to any frontal attack… but what about an ambush?

He hears the hiss of the landing gear locking in place, confirming his suspicions. The _Broken Compass_ is their ace. And Minho is in it. Briefly, he entertains the prospect of his interference, how it would flip the entire situation around. His presence in itself has power, if he were to meddle in this operation, it would change everything. He has a place to be, and it is definitely not here, whiling his time away in the hangar of a pirate ship, standing by whilst they took none of what is rightfully theirs from an alliance that Minho is supposed to defend. Not on the basis of honour, but that of duty, and what would his compatriots think about his return? That of great fortune, but also of disgrace?

Perhaps… perhaps he could ditch these pirates to seek solace in the cargo ship instead. With low-ranking officials hungering after a promotion, Minho is sure they’d do almost anything that he wished of them-

Echoing footsteps pound from the sealed entrance, the doors burst open. Minho’s head shoots up, anticipating. In the doorway stands Jisung, out of breath, eyes frantically searching until they find Minho. “You!” he gasps out. “I- Asteria, I don’t even know your name- Nevermind! Cap- Chan- we need you!” he blurts out. “He and Bin got cornered, there’s some sort of new _droid_ guard and I need to go and help them out-”

A new droid guard? Minho does recall several recent reports of a mechanised guard being tested and manufactured, he never knew they were starting to be mass-produced-

Jisung scrambles down the ladder, grabbing Minho’s sleeve. Minho tenses up, he’s been handled with much more merciless brutality, but it doesn’t mean he appreciates being touched. He stares into Jisung’s wide eyes and intends to provoke, but his voice dies in his throat. The boy’s eyes are shining with a genuinity so rare Minho cannot help but be fascinated at the raw power Jisung allows his eyes to emanate. They are so unlike many other confidential smiles and fake facades he’s seen before. From Jisung, he sees everything flashing bright like a star in its last dying moments, as it implodes into a passionate, kaleidoscopic supernova. Care. Anxiety. Worry. A deep, deep concern for his crew, which hardens into desperation, then a fierce determination that resonates solidly in Minho gut.

Like this, a heartbeat stretches out into an eternity. 

Jisung tugs more insistently. “Come on! I wish it didn’t have to come down to this, but I have to go and save my crew, I can’t-” his voice breaks with emotion, and although he tries to stop it Minho feels his heart shatter with it. “I can’t lose them to something as careless as this.”

Gently, Minho pulls Jisung’s hand loose, smoothing his garment over. Jisung just stares, crestfallen, hope draining out of his expression as quickly as wind over the moors. Minho looks Jisung in the eye once more, filled with the inexplicable urge to make sure those eyes are always filled with such life and vigour. And so, against all his responsibilities, against all he’s ever been taught, he murmurs with solid conviction, “Lead the way.”

And like the break of dawn on a glorious new day, Jisung’s eyes fill once more with that hope that Minho yearns to see. A smile twitches on Jisung’s lips. “Follow me.”

When Minho reaches the cockpit, he nearly stumbles in his sure steps. All the surfaces are dark, what with the material the entire ship is made of, with the exception of being eerily lit by all the sensors and meters installed into the dashboard, customary of any ship, but still strikingly glaring against such a dark surface. But that isn’t what concerns him; instead, it’s the sight in front of him… 

Suddenly he remembers where he heard reports of guard droids being manufactured.

Through the windscreen, glaring at him in bright yellow colours painted arrogantly on the hull, is the emblem of Cronus: a wheat sickle, demonstrating the strength of their superior agriculture sector, but also the relentlessness with which they cut down their enemies… and Minho, unfortunately, is on that list.

Either way, there is no way Minho’s going to be able to hitch a ride on this ship. In any case, he has to ensure at all costs that he _doesn’t_ end up on that ship, lest he goes right back to where he started, All the opportunity he has now, as sparse as it is, will be near none if he were to end up on that ship. Honour or no honour, he would have to see through with this heist.

Jisung rushes over to the control console, beckoning Minho over. “You’re rich, you should know how to do basic piloting, right?”

“Only down to every single hydraulic.” However, it’s not for the reason Jisung might imagine. Still, the fact stands that Minho is capable, so he silently takes his seat in what he remembers to be the engine control. He glances over at Jisung. “This has access to comms, right?”

Jisung nods, pointing to a small node on Minho’s left, then gestures towards the exit. “Just fly when we give you the signal. I gotta go- you sure you’ve got this?”

Minho nods, heart filling with newfound motivation, new wood to add to the fire that burns inside. He shoots Jisung an encouraging smile, one he never knew he could find in himself. “Go.”

For a brief moment, they stare at each other. Minho cannot help but picture in his mind’s eye, the sealing of the most solemn of pacts. Then Jisung breathes out, and races out the door once more.

Minho turns back to the console, and shoves aside the duty that he is forsaking to the side of his mind. He can resolve that conflict within himself later. For now, he is the lynchpin in the entire operation, _and_ his own survival; this is one battle he _cannot_ afford to lose.

Time seems to slow down. Each breath Minho takes in feels almost laboured with how intense it is. At any second, anything could happen; something could go wrong, the cue could come, _something could go very wrong_ -

The comm crackles to life. “Hey!” Jisung yells, startling Minho from his frozen state of fear. “We’re almost there.” Gun blasts are fired in the background. “Chan, gimme cover! It’s gonna have to be quick, as soon as I tell you to, you disconnect that bridge, then get us away like all hell, got it?”

Minho licks his lips nervously. "Got it." His eyes dart to the surveillance system, a small distance away from the engine control. In the mouth of the ship’s entrance, he can see signs of a fight; flashes of light, the distant echoes of blasts, shadows moving here and there. Then Changbin appears in the entrance, pushing along what Minho can clearly identify as high-grade shield generators amongst several other good quality odds and ends. Minho can’t help the hint of a smile that flickers on his lips. They managed to get the goods after all. Movement flashes in the corner, and it turns out to be Jisung, racing to Changbin’s side while intermittently firing at their opponents. He yells something into the bridge. Another flash of light; grenades? Dread creeps up Minho’s spine. He summons the central control hologram, and hovers his hand over the button to disconnect. Jisung yells something else, Minho can’t hear it but the urgency written all over Jisung’s face gives him a pretty good clue.

Then Chan appears in the frame, laser bullets racing past, narrowly missing him. He runs to Changbin, quickly checking in with him whilst the mechanic fires more shots into the bridge. Minho spots signs of pursuit; a firm metal foot and an automatonic blaster appendage… aimed straight for Chan's head. 

A warning is caught in Minho's throat, silently urging the captain to _turn_ _around, it's right behind you_ -

Jisung yells again, probably the same warning. Chan whirls around and dodges the shot, but the droid now steps into the _full frame_ , stepping _onto_ the ship where Jisung, Changbin and Chan are. Minho watches, horrified, as the droid, at least two heads taller than Changbin, easily shoots Chan’s blaster out of his hands, leaving the captain weaponless.

Jisung picks up his analog. "Do it! Disconnect the bridge!" 

“Are you insane?” Minho hollers back, eyes unable to move from the surveillance screen. He can see Changbin and Jisung hurriedly pushing the components further into the ship, while Chan faces the imposing droid with nothing in his hands. How is Jisung staying so calm?

Jisung moves the last crate and crouches behind it. Changbin does the same with a shield generator. “Yes! Now do it!”

“There’s literally a guard droid-”

“ _Just trust us_!” Jisung grits out. “Disconnect the bridge!”

Minho’s hand slams against the command to disconnect the bridge. Dreadfully he turns to see the outcome of the disastrous odds he’s placed on the crew.

And his jaw slackens with shock.

Standing between the droid and his crew is Chan, who’s grappling with the droid, hand to claw, flesh to metal… and his hands are _glowing_. An almost blinding light fills the screen, and before it all whites out Minho can see Chan’s mouth open in a scream. The doors slide closed as the bridge fully retracts from the cargo ship-

When the light fades from the film, Chan has collapsed in the middle of the room, with the door firmly shut and no droid in sight.

Jisung's voice emerges once more through Minho’s dazed fog. “Go! Go go go! Get us out of here!”

Minho grabs the holographic controls, and steers the _Broken Compass_ away like all hell.

* * *

Soon, Changbin enters the cockpit to find a docking bay to make repairs on. Minho retreats back to the cargo bay, unsure of where else to go considering the situation at hand. Chan might be in a coma, for all he knows, and _what_ was that light show from before? The only population that could possibly have that sort of control over light would be…

“You look like you just saw the ghosts of your long-gone ancestors,” a voice snorts. Minho glances up at the bridge. Jisung’s standing there, arms casually hanging off the parapet, as if his captain isn’t knocked out cold in the sick bay somewhere else in the ship, and they’re headed to Selene knows where to repair the ship with stolen components they’d taken off a filthy rich trade federation. He slides down the ladder and settles beside Minho, tilting his head slightly as he gazes at Minho. “What’s going on in that strange head of yours?”

Strange? If anything, _Jisung’s_ the one that’s strange, Minho thinks. Who displays their true character so openly in a world like this? Who’d dare to leave his emotions so vulnerable and touchable, when there could be anyone lying in wait to grab and ruin such purity? Who would be so bold as to leave this fresh, vibrantly beautiful blossom lying out in the open for any person to pluck and kill? 

Still, despite Jisung’s eccentricity, he holds answers to Minho’s questions. So Minho asks.

“Is Chan…?”

For the first time, Minho sees a semblance of a guard rise up in Jisung’s expression. “You saw it, didn’t you?” he questions, resigned.

Minho nods. “Chan’s Elysian, isn’t he.” Not question; a confirmation. 

Jisung slumps, and makes a small noise of affirmation.

Well, Minho deliberates, it certainly explains the blond hair. But the other defining feature of Elysians-

“What about the eyes?” Minho pipes up again. “Supposedly they’re so golden they’d shine through any disguise, and Chan clearly does _not_ have golden eyes.”

“To be fair, he’s technically _half_ Elysian,” Jisung corrects himself. “He doesn’t have a strong grasp on his power, so whenever he tries to even make a tiny flicker he risks passing out. He usually uses it as our final trump card to get out of rough situations. That outburst he had just now was one of his biggest ones so far, but he should be fine. Elysians have a pretty resilient immune system, and Chan’s the hardiest person you’ll meet in this side of the galaxy.”

Minho decides to stay silent for a while, digesting this information. “You wouldn’t want this kind of news spreading to the rest of the galaxy, would you?” he muses. “Elysians, even half-breeds, are very, very rare to come by. I’m sure you’d know that there are many greedy hands that would love to get their hands on one.” He doesn’t know why he’s mentioning these dangers at all, nor why he should care at all.

The suspicion with which Jisung eyes Minho makes him shift in his seat. A bit of that protective fire that Minho glimpsed not too long ago flares up once more. “If you dare tell anyone-”

“I have never had such an intention,” Minho rushes to reassure him.

Still, Jisung regards him tentatively, like a timid prey sizing up a ferocious predator. Something pangs in Minho's chest; it astoundingly tells him he should not be the threat in this situation. "How about we make a trade," he suggests, surprising even himself as the words blurt out of his mouth. "I have gained a piece of information about you, you learn something new about me." He takes a deep breath. _Names are a powerful thing. They must be used wisely. Giving them away can give someone absolute control over you._

"Minho." 

Jisung blinks once, digesting Minho's statement. "Wait, Minho, as in-" 

"My name," Minho affirms. "My name is Minho." 

The ease in Jisung’s limbs and the wonder in his eyes as he mouths Minho’s name fill Minho’s chest with _something_ . Although he cannot put a name to it, he knows that the _something_ is warm, and it confuses him.

And that he wants more of that _something_.

* * *

"What do you _mean_ we've managed to steal everything but the _bolts_?" Changbin's exasperated voice echoes within the docking bay. Minho startles from his seat at the complementary table, looking incredulously at the impudence being shown at the moment. “That’s literally the most crucial part of the repairs! How could we have missed that-”

“I honestly didn’t think they were that necessary,” Chan, appearing perfectly fine despite having rolled off the sick bay bed only a few moments prior, confesses, guiltily tugging at his ear. _A captain who doesn’t reel his crew in when they step out of line?_ “I didn’t predict that we’d have a hitchhiker who would literally make us lose our shields.”

Changbin looks like he would like to say some choice words to the captain, but he huffs, and turns to Minho instead, glare sharp and accusing. “You. Get us some bolts.”

Minho freezes in place. “Me?”

“Who else?” Changbin growls back. “Compensation must be paid for damage to the product.”

“‘An eye for an eye’ would have sufficed, Bin,” Chan chastises, but he too turns an appraising eye onto Minho, who’s starting to feel a bit unsafe. “He does have a point, though. Wherever your pursuers are, they’ve probably lost our trail, and despite the collateral damage you’ve caused for us, we’re still bringing you to Levanter. It's only fair that you help us help you.”

Minho discovers that he cannot find a counter-argument, because even though there are a thousand and one loopholes in Chan’s reasoning, Minho has studied him sufficiently to see he is a man of simplicity. He may be tactical and calculative, but he speaks with upright morality ringing in every word, and one would have to be truly deplorable to oppose him.

And so he gets up from his seat, only to pause once more as Chan holds his hand out. “Hold on,” the captain murmurs. He crooks an eyebrow at Jisung, who is currently dozing off in a darker nook of the ship. Chan raises his voice. “If only there were a person to accompany this fine passenger of ours to ensure he doesn’t sneak off to seek other benefactors as generous as we while on his honourable quest to retrieve some bolts for our noble cause?” 

Jisung lets out a soft snore. Chan clears his throat so loudly it echoes around the docking bay. Jisung tumbles out of the nook. “I said, _if only there were a person_ -” 

“ _Alright_ , _alright_ , I heard you the first time,” Jisung grumbles as he picks himself off the ground unceremoniously. “You just had to _ask_ , jeez, I know it’s about _responsibility, you vouched for him and whatever, yadda, yadda_. No need to be so long-winded about it.” He stands, stretches and yawns, and reminds Minho strikingly of the pets he himself loves to dote upon. “By the way,” he adds as he grabs the bag of specie from Chan’s hand, “his name is Minho.”

_Names are a powerful thing. Giving them away can give someone absolute control over you._

“Minho,” Chan repeats, and Minho sees the favourable light in his eyes as he glances at Minho once more. “Well, you’d best be on your way. Gear and I’ll just be here fixing up whatever can be fixed without bolts.”

“Hurry!” Changbin says. “I _still_ can’t believe we don’t have bolts with us-”

Jisung rolls his eyes at the mechanic’s seemingly habitual complaining, and beckons to Minho. “Come on. We’re going grocery shopping.”

Once Minho steps out of the docking bay, in his chest there is a recognisable sinking sensation, dragging down to the depths of his stomach. To escape the lair of the beast, only for him to walk straight into another. He is well, and truly, doomed.

For lying on the bay doors opposite their own, and on the transport vehicle adjacent to his position, and on the chests of the guard droids that patrol the area, are all the same yellow wheat sickle.

Minho is on Atlas, a satellite planet of Cronus, and very much unwelcome.

Jisung doesn’t seem to notice the change in Minho’s demeanour as he eagerly strides forward into the buzz of the docking centre, instantly tagging along with the majority of the crowd flocking towards the main city, where the agora of the planet’s capital lies; and that’s exactly where Minho doesn’t want to go. Still, he reluctantly follows the boy; no matter which other way he’d go, he’d end up vulnerable. Break off and head back to the _Broken Compass_ : two impatient pirates who owe him nothing wait there expectantly, coming back empty-handed would almost certainly guarantee an instant rejection. Break off and try to find his own path on this godforsaken planet: risk capture and end up in a worse fate than what he started with.

So Minho has no choice but to go forward, with Jisung.

Minho has never wished more in his life for his formal clothing to have had some form of hood, if only to hide his face, but no, the attire he is currently in is unfortunately meant to display; the deep royal purple, the golden chains that rest against his chest, even the sweeping red travel robe that brushes against his shin will certainly be seen from a mile away, meaning he needs to stay as unseen as possible. With urgency, he makes sure to stay close to Jisung's side, which turns out to be a feat within itself, what with all the twists and turns Jisung seems to naturally pull off to weave through the crowd. He’s clearly familiar with this dance. Minho, however, is not.

This becomes even more clear when Minho briefly loses sight of Jisung, lost in the sea of heads and voices and sights and colours. Panic, for the shortest of seconds, seizes Minho’s throat, before he spots a familiar brown head of colour. The tension releases from his lungs, and Minho dashes around another merchant to grasp at Jisung's vest. "Would you mind-" he pants, "-slowing down? It's too easy to lose you in this sort of crowd-" 

A mischievous grin overtakes Jisung's face. Minho feels his heart skip a beat. "Can't." He leans forward conspiratorially, like he's telling Minho a secret, and the bright eagerness in his eyes makes Minho want to know. He opens his pocket, and Minho glimpses the faintest gleam of something golden, treasure surely taken from some poor witless bystander by Jisung's nimble fingers. As quickly as he opened it Jisung whisks his pocket closed once more, but now Minho's eyes are wide with understanding. "Gotta keep moving if you don't wanna get caught," Jisung whispers, cocky smirk on his lips. This is his element, Minho realises with a slight start. Jisung is in his natural habitat, the environment he thrives in. This is his _zone_. 

Now it is Jisung's turn to grasp Minho's sleeve. "Now come on!" 

Minho stumbles, clumsily attempting to replicate the agility and elegance of the dance Jisung performs. Jisung just laughs and graciously waits for Minho as the two navigate around the agora in search of a supplies store. Somewhere in a tiny corner of his head, Minho concludes that he would be willing to follow this boy, this essence of life, this personified burst of colour, for as long as he could.

At last, Jisung halts in front of a hardware store, packed to the brim with haggling customers all surrounding a rather frazzled shopkeeper. Minho leans his head closer to Jisung’s, to safely speak amongst all the buzz. “Why does the shopkeeper not have holographic assistants to help him regulate the crowd?”

Jisung once again shoots him that side-eye that Minho saw when he brought up his wealth as leverage. “He’s just a normal shopkeep,” Jisung replies. “He can’t afford something as high-tech as _holographic_ _assistants_ , my bet is that he’s having trouble keeping enough money to even keep that live assistant he’s probably stationed in the back to conduct inventory, thanks to the high taxes all these trade giants are charging everyone here.”

Minho wisely decides not to say any more about the topic. Instead, he gestures to the species in Jisung’s hand. “Not gonna steal this time?”

Once more, a crooked, youthful grin sneaks its way onto Jisung’s face. “Nah. I only steal from high and mighty people. How’d you think I managed to get so many shinies? In fact...” he fishes something out of his pocket. Minho’s eyes instantly widen and his hand flies out, trying to snatch back the golden chain that once hung from his glimmering shawl, now resting temptingly in Jisung’s hands. The boy swings it out of Minho’s reach, dancing once more out of his grasp.

“Hey!” Minho growls, lunging once more for one his decorative chains. “Give that to me! When did you even get that-”

Jisung shakes it in Minho’s face teasingly, and yanks it back before Minho can snatch it. “Honestly, get better clasps! This was just _asking_ to be stolen.” Minho powerlessly watches Jisung slip his chain back into his pocket. Jisung pats Minho’s shoulder with fake sympathy. “Think of it as a deposit.”

Minho just silently fumes as Jisung skips merrily into the store. 

* * *

Jisung tosses the pack of bolts up in a jaunty throw after a successful transaction, catching it in a swift swoop. Minho trails behind him, taking in the sights and sounds of the agora, senses on high alert. He wouldn't put it past himself if an item of two happened to tremble in his presence.

"No thieving this time?" he asks conversationally, and also because the box looks like it could use a break from Jisung's careless throwing and Minho doesn't feel like picking countless scattered miniscule items whilst dodging people left and right with an imminent countdown to being recognised and captured on his head.

Jisung shrugs. "Nah. My pockets are pretty full… unless you'd like to offer up your own?" He openly eyes the copious folds at the bottom of Minho's tunic as they sweep to the back of his thigh, where things could easily be hidden or concealed, such as knives, like the one Minho knows lies within. 

At Minho's silence, Jisung shoots him a look, like _told you so_ , before turning and strutting once more through the crowd. 

Minho follows him, desperately praying for them to reach their destination soon. The faster they reached, the faster Changbin could fix the ship, the faster Minho would be able to get out of here.

When Minho walks past a conversing duo, something starts beeping; Minho immediately pinpoints the source of the sound to be that duo. Upon further inspection, or rather, just a glance up, Minho's eyes widen a fraction as they take in the insignia that burns proudly on their biceps. He _really_ wishes his outfit came with a hood. 

The taller of the duo moves to intercept Minho, but Minho moves faster. He grabs Jisung's wrist, and races off into the crowd. 

"What the-" Jisung stumbles, but muscle memory seems to catch him and he manages to keep up with Minho's sudden frantic pace. "What has gotten _into_ you, it was just a metal detector, your ring was bound to set it off-" 

"The man who was holding it," Minho wheezed, "is what I'm more concerned about."

There are obvious signs of pursuit, solid, determined footsteps that seem to make the very ground tremble. Jisung yelps, and for a brief second Minho fears something bad has befallen him. Then Jisung gasps "what the fuck!" like he's mad and Minho hazards a guess that Jisung has looked back at their antagonists. 

"Minho, how have you managed to get tangled with the _Blades of Keres_ ?" he hollers while Minho haphazardly drags them down a random street. "They're literally the most dangerous gang in the galaxy, what would a rich snob like you have to do with them? Unless- _you're not doing_ -" 

"Not important right now!" Minho grits out, feeling an odd sense of deja vu as he makes wild lefts and rights — the same monotone beige palette, the same face-filled agora, the same horrifying thrill of fear of being caught. Except this time, he isn't alone; he has a liability. Or perhaps, his only chance of escape. He has not decided.

"Wait, hold your fucking horses-" With surprising force Jisung pulls Minho into a dark alley, planting two hands against the wall and effectively caging in Minho, who'd rather much be running away, _far, far_ away. Instead, he's standing still, chest heaving, face to very near face with a boy with a fire in his eyes so strong Minho feels his body sear under his gaze. In the shadows, Jisung’s spirit only shines brighter. “You mean to tell me that you’ve been running,” Jisung exhales, “from _them_?”

Minho suddenly feels very much like a cornered animal. He tries to find some information, any information to grasp onto to clear his name in Jisung’s perspective, but finds he can’t come up with any, not with the sheer white terror clouding his mind, something he’s never let himself feel so strongly before, not until now when he can’t even control the flow of his thoughts-

“Tell me!” Jisung shouts, making Minho jump. “You _have_ been trying to escape them,” he says lowly, hot breath brushing against Minho’s face, treacherous flames licking against dry wood, “and you got me and my crew to try and smuggle you out from under their noses.”

“... I’m sorry,” Minho says, left with nothing else to say. “I really didn’t want to put you in the line of danger-”

“I should just leave you to rot where you are!” Jisung exclaims, but through the angry facade, Minho sees his hands shake. Jisung is just as frightened, and Minho cannot fault him. The Blades of Keres are the worst of the worst, cold, cruel, malicious, and like their namesakes they stop at nothing to quench their bloodthirst and lust for power. The embodiment of violence and death, brought to horrifying reality, just as the Keres were in ancient myths. There have been too many names stomped down under their reckless rampages, and to actively mess with them is instantly signing a contract to a very painful, gory death. “I can’t believe I agreed to bring a fugitive on the run from the biggest, most violent gang,” he rants, pacing agitatedly, “onto my ship. All because of some stupid precious ring! Changbin was right, I have stupid shitty judgement,” he suddenly turns on Minho, “and I don’t know why I’m not ditching you right now to get back to the _Broken Compass_ and get the fuck out of here!”

It indeed was Minho’s great misfortune to have become one of their targets, for it was usually unheard of that people in such high positions as him meddled with barbaric people such as them. However, whoever their client was had been willing to pay _extremely high_ to ensure Minho’s _safe_ capture, so Minho knew that he would be… _relatively_ unharmed should he be caught again. Jisung and the rest of the _Broken Compass_ , though…

“Wait!” Minho lunges for Jisung’s vest just as the young man makes to storm off, clearly leaving Minho behind.

Jisung struggles in his hold, but Minho’s grip is firm. “Let go of me! I want no part in whatever your argument is with the Blades-”

“No, Jisung, listen to me,” Minho commands, feeling an unfounded surge of confidence, like the many other times he’s had to summon false conviction. And Jisung, despite the fight in his stance, pauses, and listens. Minho takes a breath, assembling the best bargaining chips to preserve their alliance. This is it. Minho’s only chance. “I know for a fact that I will be left unharmed, should I be caught again. It’s what the contract of whoever had me kidnapped promises. But, Jisung, can the same safety be assured for you? You know the Blades of Keres rarely forget a face. If you leave me, and I manage to escape once more, who do you think they’ll go for next? My last immediate link.” 

Minho breathes out, meeting Jisung’s eyes evenly. “You.” 

Jisung’s eyes fill with pure, unparalleled fear, and Minho feels a twinge in his chest for bringing this threat upon such a guileless being such as him. Still, what has to be done has to be done. “I find no reason for them to spare you or your crew any mercy should they decide to come after you. You understand.”

And it seems Jisung does, for he ceases resistance, instead shooting Minho a feisty glare. “So what’s your brilliant plan to get us out alive, then? You were a very messy runner, it won’t be long before they catch up to us.”

Minho’s mind races as his gaze sweeps the vicinity, scanning over every possible exit or escape. His eyes land on a bar, modest and humble, a block away, and something clicks in his head.

He grabs Jisung’s wrist once more. “Follow me.”

The bar, thankfully, is not one targeted towards a certain type of pleasure-seeker, and once the duo step inside their senses are immediately awash with the friendly buzz and chatter that rumbles around the space. It clashes very much with the tenseness in Minho’s shoulders, but he tries hard to relax his movements, swing his arms, look around casually, anything to blend into the crowd a little more. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Jisung making similar micro-adjustments. Of course he should expect that; Jisung’s probably used to this sort of set-up.

“Okay, you’ve got us into a place with only one way in and out,” Jisung grumbles lowly at Minho. “Great. Wonderful plan you have right here. What’s the next step?”

Calmly, Minho walks towards the bar, sliding into a seat. Jisung remains standing behind him, clearly wary. Suppressing a sigh, Minho grasps Jisung’s vest and gently guides him to the barstool next to him.

“Now,” Minho replies, “we order a drink.”

Minho practically _hears_ Jisung bristle from beside him. “Oh, yeah, sure, we’re on the run from the fucking _Blades of Keres_ , of course a _drink_ is the best way to wind down while we’re in the middle of such mortal peril-”

“Just trust me,” Minho hisses, and without waiting for Jisung he turns and orders the first drink on the menu.

“Minho…” Jisung mutters under his breath as he glances warily around the bar once more, as if any of the patrons could jump up and blast them at any second.

The barkeeper, a tall, stocky woman who looks like she could deal a mean punch, swiftly passes Minho a glass of purple liquid. Without another word, Minho drags Jisung to the back of the bar.

“Okay,” Jisung says once Minho’s ensured they’ve got a secluded booth, “we’ve got your drink, now tell me: what is your fucking deal? If we get caught because of your _ridiculous_ -”

Minho hushes Jisung. “Will you stop! I have it handled.” He gestures to the bar counter, where the barkeeper is looking at her customers with a watchful eye. “Atlas’ culture dictates that once someone is a patron, they are unofficially under the owner’s protection. Something about honour. Either way, we should be safe… until we finish the drink.”

Jisung nods quietly, he evidently hasn’t heard of this fact. “Well then, why don’t we get more?” he pipes up. “That way we can stay here longer.”

Minho clears his throat, and holds his hand up, rubbing his two fingers together in the universal sign for _cold hard cash_. Realisation dawns upon Jisung’s face. “Ah. No money.”

Minho nods, glad that they’re once again on the same wavelength. “Chan only gave us enough for the bolts, and I’m willing to bet this noble barkeeper wouldn’t look too kindly on accepting stolen jewellery-”

Jisung hastily cuts him off. “She’s coming over!”

Minho barely manages to steel himself before he whips around to stare panickedly like a prey caught in a predator’s sights. Instead, he falls still, and gives Jisung one last affirmatory glance.

A heavy hand falls onto the table. Jisung winces, but Minho stays still. As expected, the barkeeper glowers above him, her crossed arms inviting no arguments. “You have to pay for the drinks you buy, yannow,” she says impatiently.

“Right, right.” Minho takes a deep breath, all ready to set out bargains and negotiations that will surely keep them safe within the confines of the bar-

“It’s on me,” a new voice interrupts.

Minho stops dead at the fear that flares in his chest, flicking an apprehensive glance to the interferer. The Blades couldn’t possibly have caught up...

High-cut leather boots clearly made for trekking, well-sewn materials shaded in earthy tones forming a practical ensemble, a gun holster strapped at the hip not unlike Jisung’s own, a supposed arsenal of weapons in the satchel he hoists upon broad shoulders, Minho makes an assessment of them all. By the looks of it, some form of mercenary, or at least an occupation that required weapons on them at all times, and a need for distinctly nondescript clothing. Finally, he reaches the face. Small, almond eyes and a broad nose, set in golden, tanned skin framed by curly tawny hair and a long chin, with thin lips that curl up in an amiable smile, radiating a strange sense of comfort.

From opposite the booth, Minho spots Jisung sitting up straighter.

The barkeeper, having no qualms about whoever’s paying, instantly turns to the newcomer, holding her hand out expectantly. Species are civilly placed in her palm, and she returns, satisfied, to her station.

The stranger gestures to the booth. “May I?” His voice is soft and melodious, and highly uncharacteristic of any sort of mercenary. The blaster that rests on his hip, of course, says otherwise.

Minho squints suspiciously at him, but since he’s indebted to him because of his generous gesture, he moves over, towards Jisung, and allows the stranger to slide in beside him. When he peers at Jisung, the young man appears guarded still, but his eyes seem brighter, almost _hopeful_.

“Hello Han,” the stranger greets, cordially. “Fancy meeting you out here.”

“Arctus,” Jisung addresses the stranger equally cordially. “It seems that it’s a small galaxy indeed.”

“So.” Arctus sizes Minho up and down, and suddenly, the warm, soothing voice doesn’t sound all that calming anymore. “It appears that your tiny crew has grown by one.”

“Eh…” Jisung shrugs. “He’s kind of a temporary guest.”

Arctus hums, eyes catching onto Minho’s gold chains. _Too conspicuous_ , Minho scolds himself, as if the gold threads weaved into his clothes don’t give him away just as much. He’ll have to find a way to convince Jisung to safekeep them without pawning them off to the nearest willing buyer. “A payer, I’d wager?”

“... something like that.” Jisung shoots Minho a rueful glance that Minho has to hide his wince at. “We were just business partners, until _he_ involved my crew and I in his own personal arguments.”

“Ah.” Arctus nods. “I’m afraid I saw the little scuffle in the street, and recognised your voice. It’s unfortunate that you all have come at odds with such an…” he frowns, “ _uncivilised_ group of people.”

Jisung fiddles with his fingers. “Yeah. You could put it that way.”

Minho decides he has to intervene for himself. Not knowing everyone at the table could present future adversaries, which is exactly what Minho _doesn’t_ need. “I apologise for interrupting,” he cuts in, placing his hands on the table in a sign of openness, “but may I ask how you two know each other?”

“We’re partners, I guess,” Jisung replies, looking to Arctus for confirmation.

“In the sense of the word, I suppose,” Arctus concedes. “I’ve coordinated several times with the crew of the _Broken Compass_ when our interests see fit. I fly alone, though, and from what I’ve seen of the trouble that crews have collectively gotten into,” he raises a pointed eyebrow at Minho, “I’m glad to keep it that way.”

“Yes, now that you’ve lectured us for the thirtieth time about why being a loner is the best because Cap offered you a place on our crew _one time_ ,” Jisung huffs, “you obviously didn’t come here just to chat.”

“No,” Arctus agrees. “I came here with information.”

Minho’s inner senses perk up, almost like a hound on a scent. He pushes the eagerness down. “At what price?” he asks.

“Your information,” Arctus replies, and for a second, Minho thinks he’s been compromised, but then Arctus trains his eyes on Jisung. “One of my more elusive targets seems to have interacted with your crew before. I would like you to tell me about their particulars, or any details, anything that could help me identify them; it seems that having a ship made of Elysium certainly has its perks.”

Jisung nods, except Minho has experienced _firsthand_ the kind of bad judgements he’s passed in the past. He literally _was_ one of Jisung’s bad judgements. And so he intervenes once more. “What information do you have in return, Arctus?” he questions. “For all we know, you could be tricking us.”

The evident bounty hunter now turns to Minho, a strange gleam in his eyes that puts Minho on edge. Just the slightest. “Sharp,” he muses, “but your doubts are unfounded. Today, I have nothing to hide from you, only an honest, sincere exchange of information.” He puts his palms together, and places them on the table in a slicing motion. “I can help you get away from the Blades.”

“Deal!” Jisung blurts out before Minho can even blink. Resignedly, Minho sighs, and puts a tired hand on his face. He hears a hint of a snicker escape Arctus. Minho has to admit, it’s a nice-sounding snicker.

“You’re getting used to Han already, I see.” Arctus does nothing to hide the notes of amusement colouring his voice.

“Trust me, I wish I wasn’t,” Minho grumbles back.

With another good-natured laugh, Arctus privately tells Jisung of the associate he has to gather records for. Jisung’s eyes light up as he recalls, and instantly turns to his analog to contact the rest of the _Broken Compass_. Minho realises with a start that Chan will most likely demand an explanation for such an unconventional detour once he and Jisung somehow manage to safely return to the ship. Knowing Jisung, he’d refuse to keep anything from his own crew-

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Arctus’ voice breaks through Minho’s panicked stream of thoughts, a clear breeze in the midst of a stifling, hot atmosphere, “for what purpose are you paying them?”

Instantly, Minho’s own shield flies up. He cautiously eyes Arctus, only to find nothing but genuine curiosity sparkling in his eyes. “... just a ride,” he replies.

Arctus remains unconvinced. “A person of your status? With them? This must be some ride indeed,” he muses. “I’ve heard rumours circulating around my circles… there’s a high bounty on the head of someone hailing from Levanter, someone elite.” He leans forward conspiratorially. “And I must say, that is a _fascinating_ ring you are adorning.”

Instantly, Minho’s panic spikes. He sights the knowing glint in Arctus’ eyes; the recognition of the one thing that would give his identity away, an extremely dangerous thing to have in the wrong people’s hands. He gulps, once again at the mercy of someone else and the knowledge they wield. Internally, he wonders how inconspicuous it would be should a blaster accidentally fire a shot… into its own owner.

Arctus tilts his head, inclining it towards Jisung who appears to be having a squabble with whoever’s on the other end. “Does he know?”

Hesitantly, Minho shakes his head. “Please don’t tell him,” he murmurs, a desperate plea.

A frown crosses Arctus’ face. “If you wish,” he replies, and a weight lifts off Minho’s shoulders at the sincerity in his expression. “Still,” Arctus continues, “you should tell them soon. I usually would advise against it, for obvious reasons, but for some inconceivable reason this crew that you’ve partnered is adamant about integrity amongst comrades.” If Minho squints, perhaps he can identify the spark in Arctus’ eyes as _fondness_. “They’re one of the better people in this galaxy.”

Minho thinks back to how the trio raided the cargo ship with no uncertainty at all. Sure, it was an ambush, not a frontal assault, and Minho has never seen them shoot at another person in cold blood… but they’re _pirates_ , and the people they must mess with…

“Arctus?” Jisung says. “Do you have a data drive? I’m transferring all the stuff Gear’s collated to you.”

Under the bounty hunter’s watchful eye Jisung plugs the data drive into his own analog, uploading the information, and passing it back to the brown-haired man. With a satisfied nod of his head, Arctus pulls out his own analog, and activates the holographic map. “Now, to hold up my side of the deal,” he begins. He zooms in on the planetary map, and pinpoints a small, rather insignificant planet, edging on the outskirts of the known galaxy… and from what Minho recalls of his navigational knowledge, placed somewhere in the middle of Atlas and Levanter. Arctus taps on it, and the coordinates pop up. “Lumina. It’s a small kingdom, mostly self-sustainable, and most importantly, has no ties to the Blades. I suppose that, given the appropriate persuasion, they should grant you safe passage to your destination.”

“Oh jeez, that’s great!” Jisung exclaims. The Terran term catches Minho off-guard once more. “Lemme just get those coordinates down, and we can get on our way…”

“We still don’t know when it will be safe to move,” Minho reminds the boy before he gets carried away again in his spontaneity.

“May I suggest contacting your crew and arranging a separate pick-up point, away from the city centre?” Arctus pipes up, before putting on a shocked expression, holding a hand up to his mouth. “Oops! Can’t believe I let all of that slip. I most definitely did not just tell you how to escape the Blades, and… come to think of it,” his lip quirks to one side, “did I ever pay for your drink?”

Jisung just stares at Arctus, befuddled, but Minho catches on instantly. A similarly collusive smirk sneaks onto his lips. “What drink?”

“What?” Jisung asks simply, looking back and forth between the both of them.

“Don’t worry too much about it.” Arctus winks, and without another word walks away. Cutting off connections, severing associations.

The silence left in the bounty hunter’s wake is broken by the beep of Jisung’s analog as he says into the speaker, “Hey, so, uh, could we get a pick-up somewhere else…?”

* * *

“Are you sure the coast is clear?” Minho utters under his breath as Jisung takes a tentative peek out a more discreet exit within the facility. After finishing the drink Arctus graciously granted them (thank goodness Minho could hold his alcohol), it wasn’t easy to sneak past the sharp-eyed bartender to the back door, Minho sincerely hopes she doesn’t come around for a break anytime soon.

“Is the coast _ever_ going to be clear?” Jisung hisses back. He gestures for Minho to emerge. “Come on, if we keep hiding forever we’re never gonna get anywhere. They’re reaching in five minutes.”

Minho catches Jisung’s wrist as the boy slips away. “Wait, Jisung.”

Jisung turns around to give Minho a wonderful show of his eye roll. “What is it _now_ , you _coward_?”

Minho momentarily freezes. _Coward_. That’s a new low. He brushes it aside, he has more important things to think about, such as covertness. “I need you to keep my chains for me-” his fingers grasp for the decorative ornaments that have caused him such consternation, only to clasp at nothing.

A crafty smile slips across Jisung’s face. “What, you meant _these_ chains?” He digs into his pocket and swiftly fishes out the few gold links, dangling them tantalisingly in front of Minho. “Please. You rich people have no idea how to be subtle.”

Minho grumbles under his breath, but unwraps his ornamental shawl, leaving his deep red robe swirling around his ankles and follows after Jisung as he scampers down the back alley. If Minho recalls correctly, they are to rendezvous at the _Broken Compass_ somewhere near the warehouse district, where Minho estimated they would be less likely to run into unwanted company. He honestly expected Jisung to not trust his words a single bit, not after Minho’s frightening revelation, but Minho supposes he has forgotten what an unpredictable being Jisung is. 

“I’m just saying, though,” Jisung suddenly pipes up, breaking through the echoes of their nervous breaths against the confining walls and Minho’s musings, “if you wanted we could sell one of these beauties at an unreasonably high price and make a small profit-”

“Oh yes, we’re on the run from the Blades of Keres, and of course the best way to deal with it is bartering off _stolen_ jewellery,” Minho mocks, recalling Jisung’s spirited outburst from just moments ago as the duo make a series of turns, trying their best to stay out of the main crowd for fear of being spotted. 

Jisung swats at Minho, although there is no force in it. “Just trying to keep things light. It’s called taking a chill pill, you should try it sometime.”

Again with the Terran references. Minho’s mind recalls the vast libraries within his residence, the amassment of historical and literary relics that lie within, ones he was forced to learn but never particularly enjoyed. He briefly wonders if Jisung would find joy within those aisles instead.

Heavy footsteps, metal clinking, gruff talking- Minho grabs Jisung’s wrist on reflex and sweeps them into the nearest corner: a narrow gap between two buildings, covered in shadows and just enough for Minho and Jisung to fit with their backs flush against the walls and a few inches between to spare.

“Hey, what-” Jisung glares up impertinently at Minho, from their proximity Minho can see the reflection of the sky in Jisung’s eyes. _They sparkle a lot_ , a small voice starts to supply in his mind, but Minho quickly slams it down. “What do you _think_ you’re doing-”

Minho panics and slaps a hand over Jisung’s mouth, as the footsteps grow ever closer. He never expected the Blades to be so efficient in searching. Jisung struggles against his hold, he clearly hasn’t caught on. Minho hurriedly shushes him, and when that doesn’t work, he holds his hand up. Jisung quickly gets the message, pressing himself against the wall as he meekly glances at Minho’s gestures. His eyes follow as Minho silently taps one ear. _Listen_.

Heavy breaths, more mumbling, from a distance away. The alleyways provide the perfect resonator. Jisung stills under Minho’s touch. _His skin is warm._

_Stupid, he’s a live sentient, of course he’s warm._

_Not warm in that sense,_ the voice whispers back almost salaciously. 

_Shut up_ , Minho firmly tells himself.

When Minho’s and Jisung’s eyes meet again, it’s in mutual understanding. Make a sound, and they would be dead meat.

A voice gets loud enough for Minho to register. “... imagine the promotion we’ll get after this! Us, stuck on this backwards, good-for-nothing planet _finally_ catching a target and moving up!” 

Minho’s hand is still over Jisung’s mouth. He dares not remove it.

“Bah, what are the chances that the big guy will even notice? He’ll just take all the credit and get _all_ the profit,” a rougher but higher-pitched, more feminine voice shoots back.

“No, listen,” the first voice replies. “I have a plan. Once we get that shiny boy, we hold him hostage until the big guy _has_ to give us some kind of benefit! Easy fix.”

Minho can’t stop his eyes from rolling, both at being relegated to the descriptor of _shiny_ , and at the idiocy of the statement. Even though it’s Minho’s own fate in question, he can find at least twenty ways that poorly-assembled plan would go awry. If this plan isn't executed correctly, chances of success will be very, very narrow. 

The female companion seems to think similarly. “It can’t _possibly_ be that simple,” she ridicules. “Who has the bigger guns? Who has the bigger fighting ability? Who can cut our heads off without even _looking_? Who-”

“Yes, yes, I know, it’s the big guy,” the man interrupts. “We have something he doesn’t, though.”

Minho’s blood turns to ice. _Ah. He does have some wits about him after all_.

“We have Shiny’s _life_ ,” the man rants, almost maniacally. “No one can touch us as long as we have the goods. And if we can't have any cuts of the profit-" his voice lowers to a growl. " _No one can_." 

Jisung gasps softly. Minho's grip tightens, fear once more overriding his reasoning. A hand wanders to find Minho's arm, and squeezes it. Minho, frozen, peers once more at Jisung. Commiseration, concern, sadness, all a revoltingly mesmerising mix directed right at Minho. Jisung's expressing _sympathy_.

The footsteps reach their forte. Minho stiffens and rapidly looks away, each step radiating like a gunshot in his ear. He dares not look at Jisung. 

Now that the footsteps sound imminent, Minho can attempt to pinpoint the location of the two perpetrators, just in case. The knot inside his chest melts away when he determines their positions to be at least one alley away, so if the two of them don’t make a sound, they’d be safe...

Even the air in Minho's chest dares not move.

Slowly but surely, the footsteps fade away. Only then does Minho slowly release a breath and chance a look at Jisung. 

The boy stares back, wide-eyed. Neither of them make a sound.

Jisung raises one hand and pokes Minho’s arm insistently. Minho realises with a start that he’s been covering Jisung’s mouth the entire time. He hastily pulls his hand back, not forgetting to brush it against Jisung’s vest, because Minho can live without the fact that he has the bodily fluids of another person on his own skin. He ignores the fact that he’s been in close physical proximity with said person that he hasn’t even known for a full day.

Jisung reels back. “ _Rude,_ ” he mouths at Minho. 

Minho just shrugs back nonchalantly. “ _You do what you have to do.”_ When Minho listens once more, there is absolute silence. He exchanges wary glances with Jisung.

“You think the coast is clear?” Jisung whispers.

“Is the coast _ever_ going to be clear?” Minho mocks once more. By now, he’s figured that Jisung is such a complex, inward-out paradox that firing his past words and actions back at his current self would prove most effective to get on his nerves. It’s unconventional, but Jisung is by far the most unconventional sentient Minho has come across, and as the adage goes; fight fire with fire. The strange lightness Minho feels whenever he fans the flames are an irrelevant side effect.

Jisung soundlessly smacks him, proving Minho correct. “I’m starting to consider letting you get captured again,” he grumbles.

“Please don’t,” Minho says in a flash of terror. Then he looks at Jisung’s mirth-filled eyes, and realises he’s just been tricked. “Shut up,” he retorts, before Jisung can say a word. Jisung just chuckles under his breath, and the two set off once more, much quieter this time.

After ten minutes of terse walking, Jisung’s analog indicates that the duo are nearing their destination. There’s a landing dock at the warehouse site, probably used back in its heyday for the unloading of goods and crew, and now it would be uplifting Minho and Jisung away from the Blades.

With anticipation Minho watches as Jisung rounds the last corner that would lead them to the dock, only for Jisung to dart straight back like he’s been jolted by a live wire and press himself against the wall.

Instantly Minho sidles up to Jisung, heart racing against his will once more. “What?” he whispers urgently, “what is it?”

“The coast is _not_ clear,” Jisung breathes back. “The coast is _very_ not clear.”

Minho resists the urge to punch something. Like a wall. Or whatever all-powerful deity that must be out there gleaning delight from orchestrating the continuous downward spiral of Minho’s life. “It’s more Blades, isn’t it,” he guesses, judging solely by the amount of luck he’s had lately.

Jisung nods. “I moved too fast to see much but I think there’s two of them. They didn’t see me for sure, their backs were facing us.”

“Alright.” Minho wishes he could peek over and get a grasp of the situation, but he doesn’t want to take the risk of being spotted too. Who knows what debilitating weapons their adversaries could have on them. What could Minho do to fight against such a dangerous threat?

An idea worms its way into his head. Minho considers it for a second, then rejects it. The stakes are too high, it would be a gamble Minho would not be able to afford. But, staring blankly in Jisung’s general direction, Minho’s eyes latch onto the boy; more specifically, his pockets.

“Jisung,” Minho says, after much internal conflict, “I have a stupid idea.”

“You dragged us into a bar to escape the most bloodthirsty violent gang to roam this sect of the galaxy,” Jisung retorts. “I’ll take my chances.”

“... no way,” Jisung utters, once Minho gently murmurs the plan to him. “That is insanity. How the heck did someone like _you_ come up with that?”

“I spent too much time around you,” Minho replies simply.

Jisung rises to riposte, but settles down when the sense of the statement sinks into his mind. “Fine,” he grumbles. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to do this, because this is the craziest thing I’ve ever done in my life, which might not even last much longer after this, but _fine_.”

Minho’s already rolling his shoulders, warming up for his role in his grand plan. “I’m _counting_ on you being crazy enough to do this.” It’s true; only someone with such reckless bravado as his current companion would be able to pull it off. Given anyone else, the plan might as well have not been spoken into existence at all. He glances at Jisung, who’s checking that all his pockets are safely secured, even though if they weren’t prior to this he would have suffered massive losses from the amount of crazed dashing they did. “You ready?”

Jisung takes a shaky breath, then makes a circle with his pointer finger and thumb. It takes a few seconds for the meaning to register in Minho’s mind. His lips can’t help but quirk up. Leave it to Jisung to summon yet another Terran reference amidst such a time as this.

Minho turns towards the precarious corner, the only thing separating them from certain doom. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Minho tries to shrink a little more into the shadows. His red robe lies reluctantly abandoned by his feet for the sake of swiftness, leaving him in nothing but his tunic, ornamental belt and dark travelling pants. From a distance, he can hear conversation (though of what sort, he isn’t sure). He hopes that it’s the dialogue he played out in his head while formulating the plan. This absolute temerity is the downfall Minho has been warned of countless times, but he supposes he _has_ truly spent too much time around Jisung. He never imagined one being would have such an enormous impact on him within such a short amount of time spent together. 

Even his breaths are starting to become too loud as he stays in place, waiting. The possibility of success is too low and leverages too much on ‘what if’s for Minho’s liking, especially the most crucial portion of what is to be his daredevil stunt. He briefly wonders if there’s a _replay_ button he can hit, so that he can return to his past self from four minutes ago and tell himself to _really think it through_.

But he can’t, and he’s here, and all he can do is _wait_.

And wait.

A furious shout rips through the still air.

Minho’s world quickly accelerates once more as the adrenaline starts racing in his blood, heightening his senses and tuning his awareness. Resolve hardens in him; there is no time for regret, only action. 

Action is exactly what he gets when frantic footsteps pound in his ears, prompting him to crouch and get into position. Yelling soon follows, they’re getting closer. Minho silently counts down in his head, though what for, he doesn’t quite know. He doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into, hasn’t even had time to acclimatise yet, but this is _survival_.

At his side, a dark amorphous blob rises, hovering anticipatingly. On his belt, the precious gemstone smoothly swings closed on its hinges unprompted.

“- is that all you’ve got? My word, you’re so much more pathetic than I thought! Who would’ve imagined, a bunch of lumbering idiots not even able to catch a mere jewellery thief! Even a _coward_ could run faster than the both of you combined.”

Of course Minho’s cue would come in such a pointed manner. He lets it slip, but only because it would enrage his targets all the more. Rage is a weapon too often underused. And just as he guessed, Jisung turns out to be the best way to exploit it.

Jisung’s taunts become clearer and clearer by the second, and with each second the countdown in Minho’s head gains clarity. His eyes zoom in on the narrow gap the daylight glares on. Now, he waits with a purpose. 

Then it happens, so fast that if one had closed their eyes in that instant they would have missed it. A near blur whizzes past Minho’s vision, shouting insults and calling names. Minho sucks in a deep breath, anytime now-

Two figures sprint along, fuming and boiling to the brim with anger. Not wasting a second, Minho springs up. Almost as if he has wings on his ankles, he launches himself at the slower Blade, tackling him onto the ground. The Blade, still breathing hard from running, tries to retaliate with a rough shove, but Minho is quicker, letting his reflexes kick and delivering a sharp punch to the face, without hurting his fist just as he was taught to. The Blade hovers in the air for a millisecond before collapsing fully to the ground, a silent landing, a ward against being noticed. The dark blob races by, rushing into the Blade’s mouth as he groans with pain. His throat contracts, a sure sign of swallowing. One Blade down.

Minho stands up and whirls around, giving himself at least fifteen seconds before the other Blade realises her partner has been pulled out of the action. She’s still chasing the lithe silhouette down the especially long alleyway Minho and Jisung had picked out after some examination and quickly notified the _Broken Compass_ of some… _delays_. 

Minho runs after her, narrowing his eyes, willing her feet to falter in their movement. The Blade’s legs almost miraculously trip over nothing, sending her sprawling on the floor. Minho doesn’t miss a beat, leaping up only to come crashing down on her, using his full body weight to knock the air out of her lungs before she can react. Unseen forces assist him as he flips her body so that she faces the sky, and Minho quickly sends two swift punches to her face. The dark blob follows obediently, slipping into her mouth and triggering her swallowing reflex. Minho rises after one last blow to the ribs, letting the poison do its work and kick into their systems. To any other watchful eyes, he had simply beat the lights out of the duo.

Jisung jogs back to Minho, winded from his frantic sprint. Minho prays the dark blob of poison was small enough that from a distance it was not picked up by Jisung’s sweat-blurred vision. Jisung’s bright eyes rake over the scene, pausing at Minho’s arms, now covered by only a black, long-sleeved, skintight undershirt. Suddenly feeling vulnerable under such scrutiny, Minho folds his arms. 

Finally, Jisung’s eyes draw away from Minho’s physique to flit over the blossoming bruises on the woman’s face, and the comatose man lying not far behind. “Geez, you sure beat them up real bad. You sure you didn’t _kill_ them?”

Minho just offers a shrug. The poison should take care of any loose ends Minho didn’t tie up in his ambush, but Jisung doesn’t need to know what he didn’t see.

Jisung stares once more at the figures beneath them. “I wonder,” he says conversationally, “what stories they could have. If they had anyone who loved them.” He looks once more to Minho.

The boy’s gaze is met with a shocked stare. “They’re _Blades_ ,” Minho replies. “You said it yourself, they’re violent, bloodthirsty, heartless.” He gestures to the insignia, painfully branded into each member’s bicep. “They’d take your life in an instant and not even regret it, and you care about _their_ lives?”

“I never said they were _heartless_ ,” Jisung shoots back easily, still gazing thoughtfully at the armour that covers the Blade’s body. Minho can see in his eyes, the dissecting, the peeling back of the toughened metal, layer by layer, almost as if Jisung can envision the bare core of the soul, its true soft, vulnerable nature exposed for Jisung to see. “Sure, they’re greedy and destructive and irretrievable from the darkness they’ve swallowed themselves in, but” -a rueful, secretive smile edges its way onto Jisung’s lips- “they must have once been like us too, right?”

A beep ricochets down the alleyway, making Minho jump out of his skin. Jisung startles similarly, and the two stare at each other, frozen, until Minho gathers enough sense to find the source of the beeping. His eyes land on the analog attached to Jisung’s belt, its notification light flashing red.

A radiant blush coats Jisung’s cheeks. “Right. I knew it was me. Duh.”

* * *

“The heck kind of delay did you have to hold us up for _ten minutes_?” Changbin comments over the speaker system the instant Minho and Jisung scramble on board. 

“Oh, a _delay_ it was, indeed,” Jisung says, glancing knowingly back at Minho. Minho starts feeling like he’s rather done for. Jisung fishes the box of bolts from his impossibly deep pockets and tosses it further into the ship. In the rush that Minho witnessed before this, he completely forgot about them. “Here, the bolts. Let’s fix this ship and get out of here.”

Chan catches the box without so much as blinking. “What’s the rush, Hannie?” he asks as he places the box amongst the other repair tools and polishing equipment lying in the corner, evidence of a hasty departure on their part. Minho wonders what his own state of strippage must look like to Chan and Changbin. His red robe and violet ornamental shawl hang limply from his arms, and he has half a mind to drape them back around himself. It’s technically against protocol to be so exposed in the presence of close associates, much less absolute strangers like them. However, when Minho’s eyes drift to Jisung, his mind doesn’t quite seem to bring the word ‘stranger’ to the forefront.

“We have a passenger to send home, don’t we?” Jisung replies to Chan. “Come on, there’s not a second to waste, not when we have Bin’s precious upgrades to get to.”

“Don’t bring me into this, brat,” Changbin’s voice rasps through the speakers, but the ship still shudders and gains altitude as its pilot makes haste in travelling to its next destination, Minho can tell by the sudden pressure he feels against the floor of the ship. His heart, still exhausted and exposed after the previous encounter, is gripped by irrational fear once more. Forcing his feet to move, Minho heads back to the seating area of the cargo bay before wayward objects start moving on their own accord.

“Oh, and, one more thing,” Jisung says as he and Chan enter the inner ship. “Can we go somewhere maybe a little less crowded?”

A pause. “What, why?”

Minho’s breath hitches. This could be it; Minho’s fate is fully in Jisung’s hands. Jisung could choose to spill everything, let the crew turn on Minho with reproach and get rid of him and the threat he brings with him. In Jisung’s own words, who would want a fugitive on the run from the biggest, most violent gang on their ship? Minho can already envision himself being jettisoned twenty ways back down to Atlas.

Jisung’s voice grows fainter. “I saw the symbol on the ship we raided in the docking bay we landed in just now. We shouldn’t go somewhere public, there’s bound to be authorities on the lookout.”

Minho’s jaw goes a little slack. Did Jisung just miss the perfect opportunity to alert his own crew to the danger Minho has placed on their collective shoulders?

Their voices fade away, shielded by the Elysium before Minho can hear Chan’s reply. Left to drown in his own thoughts once more, Minho drapes his robe around his shoulders, sits back in his seat, and listens to the engine hum softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit, 14/9: in light of recent revelations, i'll be changing arctus to just an oc. i'll edit his physical description soon, but thankfully this doesn't affect anything :")
> 
> also disclaimer? while writing this i realised i relied more and more on my knowledge of star wars to help me sculpt this universe, specifically star wars rebels because lord knows i was SUCKER for the series, so if you happen to see any cinematic parallels... not intentional. but probably still there. i know for sure the basic layout of the broken compass that i have in my head is highkey reliant on the layout of the ghost.
> 
> i'll have to be honest, i ran away with quite a bit writing this out, i didn't hold out on my enthusiasm for classical history even though who knows if those terms will even be relevant in the far distant future. i'll explain them now:
> 
> \- arctus: it actually stands for the big/little dipper, but after some intensive googling it apparently,, also means bear and the other option was ursa which wikitionary firmly places as a she-bear... in any case arctus is also the feminine version, the male version being arctos, but by then i was too attached to the name to change it so arctus it was.
> 
> \- asteria: the greek titaness of stars, i actually don't remember how i came about to use her name as a curse like our "god damn it", somehow i got it into my head that who would even believe in god when there are STARS and shit so they'd probably choose to swear on something they know for sure is nonexistent, i'm not sure if my line of logic is even clear but yes
> 
> \- atlas and cronus: these were some of the major baddies in the olden myths, with crimes including but not limited to: cannibalism, incest, fratricide, attempted filicide... yep. you gotta know their names will be used in some antagonistic form
> 
> \- elysia: OHHH BOY this is my favourite reference by far; this is chan's homeworld, sourced from the greek concept of "heaven", the elysian fields or elysium. my inspiration comes behind that one vlive where chan saw a comment asking if he was an angel, he said he could be, but he liked dark things (bar the fact that angels canonically look... [nothing like classical renditions of them](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ophanim#:~:text=The%20ophanim%20or%20ofanim%20\(Heb,Ezekiel%201%3A15%2D21.)), i knew that a reference to elysium was just what he needed. the thing is that while it is a utopian place where good and honourable people go to when they die, it's also in the underworld, aka the equivalent to hell. see chan, you can be an angel and like dark things at the same time. you're welcome.
> 
> \- IPTA: not a mythological reference, but i've seen stay's clownery firsthand so i'll explain it here despite dropping copious hints about it in the story itself: it stands for Inter-Planetary Trade Alliance. really flashy, i know.
> 
> \- keres: i stumbled upon these when trying to come up with a suitable deity to play patron to this gang i was gonna villainise the heck out of (jisung obviously begs to differ but oh well), i knew nyx had a whole horde of otherwise,, unpleasant offspring so i hopped on over to her wikipedia page and... who knew. goddesses of death and violence, ripe for the picking. it was too good to be true.
> 
> \- selene: greek titaness of the moon, follows the same story as asteria
> 
> \- species: an excerpt from my google docs comments: "synonym of coin: specie. plural species. i understand how this can be confusing."
> 
> \- terra: roman primordial earth goddess, our planet earth, civilisation of humans before they settled on other planets. is seen by them as how we'd see neanderthals/early modern civilisation, but with a lot more knowledge to go on
> 
> amongst other things, STREAM !! GOD'S !! MENU !! AND GIVE THE BOYS THE WIN THAT THEY DESERVE. besides that, there's a lot of shitty stuff happening in the world right now, and i think the [this blm carrd](https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/) provides a pretty good overview of all the issues that deserve international attention! still, remember to look after yourself, don't forget that we're still amidst a pandemic, no chances should be taken. wash your hands and wear masks if you can.
> 
> i,, think that's everything,, please don't kill me for this incredibly long author's note lmao. if you've managed to read it until here... you champ. hope you enjoyed!!! and i hope i'll be able to clunk out another hopelessly long chapter,, chances aren't looking too good,,,
> 
> [here's my twitter!](https://twitter.com/straycelestials)


	2. New Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are you waiting for? Let’s go!” Jisung hollers, sprinting ahead of him and firing another shot. Easy for him to say, he isn’t the one who just moved at least twenty large asteroids in one go. Minho winces when he hears something explode behind him. 
> 
> “ _Yeet!_ ” Jisung screams. Minho winces harder.
> 
> or: the adventure continues and Minho gets into more shenanigans; who will we meet next?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is the result of me pressuring myself to publish something, ANYTHING, in commemoration of the crazefest that is this particular week of september, where we not only have the jilix twin birthdays, but also a COMEBACK,,, i call dibs on b me. 
> 
> in any case, my schedule has become... particularly hectic, i've burnt midnight oil more than once working on this chapter. it's definitely not as rigorously beta-read as my first chapter, so i'm sorry if there are any mistakes!
> 
> (cw w00jin)  
> and... there's no avoiding talking about more serious recent events. concerning, ahem, _him_ , it's been absolutely heartbreaking to see those true colours come to light, not just in the offences he committed as we've learnt from the allegations, but also in his response to the entire thing, the sheer amount of dishonesty and underhandedness of his actions was disgusting. i used to look up to him a lot and genuinely supported and loved him, but he did damage to a lot of people and we should support the victims, they deserve justice. hopefully these cases will receive due penance and we will never have to see his dirty lying face again. i'll do a purge of my fics, especially ot9 ones (i've already taken down a few fics but the others i haven't touched yet) it will take me a while to get through everything because as mentioned before i have a certain monstrosity called Exams to combat, but once they end you bet i'm definitely starting the purge. forgive me for the delay :(
> 
> also tw for a brief panic attack, it starts from [“Now, apparently,” Jisung says.] to [Another chirp pierces through the air]. please take care of yourself!
> 
> and also a shoutout to [nyxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyxxstay/pseuds/nyxxstay), [krix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flrthans) and shax for dealing with my space nonsense! especially krix for dealing with my impromptu screaming about universe and character revamps, you have no idea how many scrapped renditions this universe has had in the process of writing this chapter alone.
> 
> ok now we can move on to space minsung kicking ass >:)

Minho has been in many scenarios before.

They vary widely, from pretentiously grandiose functions displaying the greatest riches known to the universe, to the most historical of trade deals ever made. However, never, _never_ has Minho foreseen himself in this position, squatting in the midst of a rural ship bay, wrench in one hand, covered in a splattering of dark, goopy oil.

Changbin laughs unabashedly at Minho, bending over over from the force of his giggles, while Chan and Jisung have the sense to at least try and hide their uncontainable giggles.

“Asteria!” Changbin gasps between chuckles. “The look on your _face_!” His next words dissolve into uncontrollable laughter.

Minho glares crossly at the valve Changbin was tampering with prior to this, and silently curses it in all the ways it has wronged him. Mainly; how it decided to throw a tantrum and spurt oil in Minho’s direction when _Changbin_ was the one who was fiddling with it. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be fixing it?” he asks Changbin accusingly.

“I am!” Changbin replies, too caught up in amusement to get riled up. “I guess… it was just feeling testy today.” He does another once over of Minho’s now ruined tunic, and bursts into a fresh round of giggles.

A hand lands on Minho’s shoulder; he jumps and whirls around out of instinct, only to meet a set of bright hazel eyes. _The irises of the Elysian are, supposedly, so golden they outshine any attempt to disguise them_.

“Why don’t you go get changed up,” Chan suggests, somehow having managed to wrangle his laughter into a sympathetic smile. “Jisung’ll take over.”

The boy, who has been standing at one side gorging himself on mirth at Minho’s predicament, suddenly freezes up at the mention of his name. “Hey, hey,” he quickly protests. “You know, I got it when you asked me to babysit Minho, but don’t think I can’t tell when you’re messing with me. At one point, it doesn’t become responsibility and becomes _slavery_ , I’ll have you know.”

“Right.” Chan’s still amused. “Then, pray tell, who will lend poor Minho here a clean set of clothes in the right size? Unless _you’d_ like to see him in clothes two sizes too tight.”

Jisung pauses at that. “I-I mean-”

“Oh?” Changbin’s voice has taken on a teasing edge. “You mean what? You wanna see Minho in your clothes?”

Jisung pauses, staring blankly at Changbin. A nervous laugh escapes his mouth as a brilliant red spreads across his cheeks. “I- what? No! Where- what- where’d you get that idea from?”

Changbin collapses back into more laughter, broken valve long forgotten in favour of ridiculing others. “Of course,” he taunts smugly. “Then what’s all that red on your face? Got blasted by vermilium powder?”

Jisung stammers, wracking his mind for another answer while Changbin cackles away. Minho, still cranky and covered in oil, thinks to himself that he really should intervene. After all, it’s a joke by practical _strangers_ , made at the expense of his personal dignity. Yet his mouth cannot seem to summon the words to snap at Changbin, and his eyes cannot draw away from the stuttering, blushing boy a short distance away from him. _A multicoloured gemstone of the highest value, reduced down to its core elements_. Once more, Minho witnesses Jisung unabashedly revealing his thoughts, if not in his words, then in his actions — display open for the world to see. A refreshing burst of colour amidst the monotone that Minho is accustomed to, a fruit of the sweetest temptation ripe for the picking. 

And Minho can feel something in him drawn to that irresistible gravity.

Someone clears his throat. Minho smoothly hides his startled flinch, looking to his left. Chan looks back, then slides his eyes in the general direction of where Minho was looking previously. Minho’s mouth goes slightly dry. _He couldn’t have been able to tell. Right?_

“Right,” Chan says, “so are we going inside to get you some clothes or would you rather be out here dripping in oil until it fuses with your skin?”

Minho scrambles to recollect himself, _how could he have fallen apart so easily in the first place_? “Yes,” he finally replies. Yes. “I think that would be… most pertinent.”

Seemingly satisfied, Chan beckons Minho back into the hull of the _Broken Compass_.

Minho has to admit, the only time he had been further than the cargo bay, he had been so caught up in the frenzy of the raid that he’d forgotten to take in his surroundings. However, now that he’s walking leisurely down a hallway to the personal quarters for the first time, he can take his time to appreciate whatever the ship has to offer. Despite the dark exterior, the yellow glow of the lights that fills the space somehow gives the blackness a sense of warmth, inviting and alluring, calling Minho further into its depths with the promise of comfort. 

Minho forces that irrational impression out of his head. 

The corridor is as narrow as expected for a ship her size, Minho estimates that if he tries to extend his arms out his hands will touch each wall even before fully stretching them out. The floor, of course, has the customary dust and dirt on it, this Minho expects; however, the numerous scratches and blaster marks are a bit less anticipated. In hindsight, Minho probably should have predicted this, seeing that he’s in a _pirate ship_ no less, but looking at the trio that resides in this ship, Minho can’t see them carelessly using their weapons within the ship’s interior for no good reason. Perhaps this ship has more stories stored within its shell than Minho can tell.

Chan halts at the door closest to the cockpit. “Wait outside,” he instructs Minho. Minho graciously nods his head and stands patiently next to the entrance. That room is most likely Chan’s private space, an intimate place he probably doesn't want to share with a practical stranger. 

When Chan emerges once more, Minho isn’t quite sure what to make of what’s in his hands. “Sorry.” Unexpectedly, Chan sounds sheepish. Like he’s actually concerned with Minho’s comfort. “You’re probably not used to this kind of wear.” The style is similar to Chan’s current wear, that is to say, à la ruffian. Dark shades, rebellious rips and tears, material that was made for comfort and not luxury — the only real difference Minho can spot (and one that irks him) is… there aren’t any sleeves.

“I see.” Minho doesn’t mean to sound as clipped as he does, but the surprise and caution that came with the thought of wearing such a bold outfit is something that Minho instinctively hides. He hastily clears his throat. “I mean… it’s alright.”

Chan gestures helplessly to the pile in his hand. “I’d get you a T-shirt or something, but I’m afraid all my extras were ruined in a little…” his nose wrinkles, “ _prank_ Han set up. And I’m sure you wouldn’t want thermal materials in this mild weather.”

“Of course.” For a while he contemplates staying in his oil-soaked clothes, or, at the very least, retaining his black skin-tight undershirt which would provide _some_ sort of decency. Then he realises that both those ideas are stupid, because Chan might not have been kidding when he said the oil could fuse with Minho’s skin. Depending on the type, it could be perfectly possible, and Minho doesn’t want to take chances. 

He sucks it up, says a brisk “thank you”, and excuses himself to the communal lavatory to clean up.

Chan was generous enough to provide a (black) sleeveless undershirt, which Minho gratefully wore under the (black) collared vest. Upon closer inspection, that in itself was clearly a remnant of a military uniform, only with the sleeves roughly chopped off, the armholes fraying at the ends, giving it a roughened appearance. Minho thinks back to Chan’s own emblem-less vest, but he knows some military divisions have detachable insignias. Exactly where did Chan’s clothes come from? 

He tugs on the pair of (black) cargo pants, smoothly tucking them into his travel boots, which had miraculously been saved from the tragic oil spurt. He looks over his ruined clothes, trying to take stock of his losses: his tunic, waist belt, pants, undershirt-

Minho looks at the cream white silken strip that lays across his belt, displaying the beautifully sinister purple gem from which Minho had retrieved his poison from on Atlas. Unbidden, the object unwinds from the rest of his waist belt. Minho raises his vest up, allowing the strip to curl through the belt loops of the cargo pants, but placing the jewel at the side of his hip, where it would be able to rest safely under the (black) vest. There should still be a good amount of poison left, Minho can’t give up something as valuable as that. 

Up from the folds of the dirtied tunic rise several intricately carved blades, ones the Blades had (ironically) failed to detect upon their brief capture of Minho. They hover hesitantly in the air, making lazy twirls as Minho contemplates how to resolve each of them. Eventually they slip into the various pockets of the cargo pants, which are turning out to be quite the useful commodity. Perhaps Minho should ask Chan for his supplier. 

His mind flashes back to the military vest currently resting against his skin. 

Maybe not.

The ship bay has calmed down considerably when Minho returns, newly dressed. Changbin’s back at the shields, working as if the entire oil incident hadn’t just happened, Chan’s staring at his analog, maybe checking communications, and Jisung appears to be teaching himself to juggle with some rather pointy tools. (Minho takes the latter to be normal from the lack of reaction from the other two.) 

The scene doesn’t feel at all like one of someone being hunted by the most feared gang in all of known space… but then again, two-thirds of the crew doesn’t know that. Minho, despite the strange prickling in his chest, decides not to spoil it for them just yet, for theirs and his own sake. Soiled clothes in hand, he walks over to Chan, who perks up upon sensing his presence.

“Someone’s looking rather dashing,” the captain comments with a wry smile as Minho approaches.

 _Clearly he’s biased_. “Don’t flatter yourself,” Minho retorts, but Chan’s smile only grows wider. “How long does it typically take for you to launder your clothes?”

“If there are no… _interruptions_ ,” Chan replies, glancing cautiously in Jisung’s direction (and Minho simply cannot _fathom_ why), “about a day or two, since we just restocked on water. Gear will tell you from experience that oil stains can be a bit difficult to resolve, though.”

“That’s fine.” Minho weighs up the clothes in his hands. The smooth texture of the valuable material brushes gently against Minho’s hands, a textile of high quality and certainly not suitable for a mere casual wash. Still, oil is soaking into the threads, and Minho isn’t too fond of permanent dark splotches on his clothes. The service at home will be more than enough to cover it once he returns, Minho decides. “It won’t give you too much trouble to help me do a preliminary wash, will it?”

“That’ll cost you an extra thousand species,” Chan responds, but the wink he drops as he grabs Minho’s clothes and saunters away says otherwise. Minho’s lips twitch up in a smile as he heads to his next destination.

Jisung jumps and accidentally whacks himself with a wrench when Minho’s shadow suddenly looms over him. “I’m fine!” he yelps, rubbing his sore head. “Just- just testing my reflexes-” 

Minho suppresses the uncharacteristic snicker that threatens to escape his lips, but he cannot suppress the strange satisfaction in him. It’s becoming rather familiar, this... _fascination_ he has of witnessing Jisung be beat down by life, only the spring back up again, bold as ever. He supposes it’s a side effect of being around such an unusually lively character as Jisung.

The boy’s gaze travels over to Minho, in his black sleeveless vest and cargo pants ensemble, and his jaw slackens. He’s probably not used to seeing Minho looking like this. Minho himself isn’t used to looking like this.

Minho stretches his now-exposed arms out, failing to notice how it makes Jisung’s ears flush even redder. “Quite the makeover, isn’t it?” he comments, quirking an eyebrow at Jisung. “A little bird told me that a _certain someone_ is the reason behind this charming new style.”

Uncharacteristically, Jisung takes a deep breath, probably still recovering from the wrench assault. “Give my compliments to the stylist then,” he finally says.

“Now that’s just being self-absorbed,” Minho shoots back teasingly. He holds a hand out to Jisung; after all, he came with an agenda in mind. The boy’s eyes hesitantly follow his movements. “My items, please,” Minho says.

The usually quick gears in Jisung’s mind seem to take a millisecond longer to function. “Oh!” He scrambles to fiddle with his pocket containing Minho's precious items, still left over from the thrilling chase. Deft fingers retrieve the thin golden chains and scoop up the delicate purple brooch that once cinched Minho’s shawl. “Here.”

Minho’s hands curl around the reassuring weight. Even if he is no longer in his regal clothing, the chains still hold value; the definitive mark of status could be of use later on. “Thank you.”

Jisung looks back and forth between the accessories in Minho’s hand and his current outfit. “You sure you wanna wear those on your vest?” he asks, blinking guilelessly. “It seems kind of… impractical. And flashy. Not very lowkey for someone trying to hide.”

A surge of knowing amusement rises in Minho’s chest. “Whoever said anything about wearing it on my vest?”

* * *

Minho can tell that Chan is somewhat taking ownership of Minho’s new clothing ensemble despite it being of no real consequence. Chan's tremendously generous in offering some of his own accessories to Minho, even volunteering some of his own metal arm guards (which Minho politely declined). However, in order to accommodate his own personalisation, Minho has to request for an armband in the end.

When he presents said request to Chan, the captain frowns. “An armband? I’m afraid that’s not really up my alley. You’ll have to ask Jisung for those, I think.”

And so, back to Jisung Minho goes. Except, Jisung’s moved on to helping Changbin move the final tools to fix the shield generator, and his back is faced obliviously to Minho. 

Minho’s lips curl up in an undeniable smile as his chest fills with something he hasn’t had the privilege of feeling in a long, long time. He supposes, just this once, now that he is not amongst restrictive formalities and overbearing expectations, he can let his guard down, and allow this feeling to direct his mind.

Minho takes quick stock of his surroundings. Chan is back at the inventory, and Changbin is too occupied with finalising the repairs. Perfect. With stealthy feet he approaches Jisung, who is strolling blissfully towards the _Broken Compass_ , unaware of the presence behind him. Minho slinks closer… and closer…

“ _YARGH!”_ Jisung twists around and topples over in his haste to get away from Minho’s scheming hands. Looking into Jisung’s eyes, wide with betrayal as he stares at his attacker, Minho lets the mirth spilling inside him bubble out as giggles stream past his lips and his eyes curve up from the force of his laughter.

“Dude!” Jisung exclaims, which just makes Minho laugh harder. Jisung scrambles to his feet while Minho catches his breath, unused to being seized by such a strong fit of laughter. Strangely, Minho’s shoulders feel like they’ve been relieved of metal ball bearings he never knew were there. It feels light. It feels freeing. 

Freedom can be a dangerous thing if one has too much of it.

Minho collects himself enough for him to state calmly, “I need an armband.”

Jisung gapes owlishly at him, which summons fresh new laughter that Minho barely manages to hold back. “You’re going to _ask_ something of me, _after_ you scared me like that?”

“To be fair, it was really funny,” Changbin calls from the ship.

“Fuck off, no one asked your opinion,” Jisung complains unhappily, before poking an accusatory finger at Minho’s chest. “After that little stunt you just pulled, I don’t think I’ll be giving you _shi-_ ”

Chan clears his throat loudly. Jisung clams up with an insolent glare at Chan, cheeks puffing out as he and the captain have a silent argument across the ship bay. Finally, Jisung huffs a sigh of resignation and motions to Minho. “Come on, let’s get your stupid armband.”

Once more Minho enters the belly of the beast, this time heading towards Jisung’s room, this one the closest to the entrance into the corridor. The door slides open with a perfunctory hiss, and Jisung inclines his head towards the interior of the room before heading in. “Come on in.”

Minho raises an eyebrow. This is new. “You’re inviting me into your personal sleeping quarters?” Even with the general lack of privacy in Minho’s own sleeping quarters on Levanter, he still understands the intimacy and exclusivity of such a space.

Jisung shoots Minho a judgemental look (which Minho thinks is highly uncalled for) and shrugs nonchalantly. “Yeah? There’s not much to see, honestly.”

Minho frowns lightly, wanting to disagree, but Jisung’s already heading inside without a second thought. Minho wonders, briefly, why he even bothers trying to confine Jisung within the set boundaries in his head when the boy continuously breaks them.

With a quick tap to the sensor the orange lights between the seams of the wall and ceiling glow, and a central dangling lamp flickers to life. Minho thinks Jisung must have been cracking some kind of joke, because there is _plenty_ to see in his room. There’s paraphernalia galore, personal items strewn everywhere, clothes, memorabilia, arbitrary tools and all sorts of bells and whistles, clearly as a second thought from their owner. Jisung skips expertly over all of them with a compartment at the back wall his clear goal, and _oh,_ Minho thinks, _this is where he practices the dance he performs within the crowds_. Because that really is how many things there are on the floor to rehearse with. 

Minho replicates a much more clumsy, cautious rendition, nearly losing his balance trying to navigate between a miniature mountain of clothes and some rather sharp metal stars. Something soft hits his face by the time he’s reached his destination. “There,” Jisung says dismissively, as if he isn’t talking to someone potentially very much his superior. “Armband. Would you like a drink with it, by any chance?”

Minho recognises a barbed comment when he hears one, something meant to provoke, meant to rile one up and make one lose composure. It’s a good thing Minho knows how to return the treatment in kind. “Oh, how generous!” he replies, false delight in his voice. “How hospitable of you.” His lip curls up in a teasing smile as his eyes scan the floor. “Now if only you had the cleanliness to accompany it.”

An affronted gasp escapes Jisung’s lips. He points an accusing finger at Minho. “How dare you offend the king in his own realm! Say such sacrilegious things in front of such a hallowed place!” His eyebrows scrunch up as he rambles, and Minho resists the urge to smile. He’s been doing that too often now. Jisung stares up at Minho, an indignant fire in his eyes that Minho almost doesn’t have the heart to ever extinguish. “Show some respect for this sacred land,” the boy demands.

“We’re not even on solid ground, Jisung,” Minho returns wryly, just to see the boy fumble around for a witty retort. “What colour is your armband?”

“What- it’s black. Why?” Jisung falls quiet as it dawns on him. “You can’t find it, can you?”

“... it’s not my fault your ship is made out of black metal,” Minho finally grumbles. 

A loud chirp from Jisung’s analog makes Jisung jump slightly, while Minho has a more restrained reaction of blinking harshly. “Oh,” Jisung says, upon glancing at his analog. “We’re about to take off again.”

Minho exhales, and fights back the urge to say “about time”. Reproach, however, rises up in his chest in droves. He’d been so occupied with such trivial matters in this ship bay, allowed himself to get lost in the fallible utopia he’d built for himself within the tall walls and the haven that the environment had deviously constructed; it completely slipped his mind that his life is in peril, and speed is of the essence. “Great,” he chooses to say, revealing none of his internal turmoil. “How long until we leave?”

The hull shudders, and this time, Minho really does flinch.

“Now, apparently,” Jisung says.

All of a sudden, the walls around Minho start to feel _suffocating_ . _No! No, not now, this can’t be happening,_ NO _!_ The ship gives one more large shudder, and Minho’s lungs search and search for air, but they can’t seem to find any, a sensation far too familiar for Minho’s comfort. Intrusively, as if not his own, his mind pushes forward memories, visions, flashbacks, and the boundaries in his head start to lose cohesion. He frantically tries to grasp at those lines, his placebo, yet they slip through his fingers like water.

Jisung, seemingly unaware of Minho’s crisis, scoops the armband up from the floor (Minho’s vision is unfocusing too much to notice exactly _where_ ), and slips it into Minho’s hand. It ends up dangling on his half-closed finger. Minho’s too paralysed to do much else, he’s too hyper-aware of everything around him yet too distant to sense everything that’s going on. The cold sweat running down his back is the sole point of clarity in Minho’s jumbled senses, and the hummingbird beat of his heart threatening to beat out of his chest, a frantic, frenetic disaster. Desperation consumes Minho’s being as his mind caves in to the overwhelming _fear_.

Jisung’s voice crashes invasively into Minho’s cranium. “... I’ll just leave you to it, yeah? Takeoff shouldn’t be too rough, a little bit of shaking shouldn’t bother you that much.” 

The door slides open, and Minho just wants the mad static in his mind to _stop_. Jisung’s dark silhouette steps out the room, no longer facing Minho. His feet start getting pulled down, G-force taking a stronger hold as the ship starts to lift off.

“Don’t take too long!” Jisung tosses out cheerfully, almost as if he’s _mocking_ Minho’s current predicament. His voice kind of sounds filtered, like it’s being spoken underwater. Minho isn’t even registering Jisung’s physical image. Jisung speaks again, “Oh, yeah, I’ll be counting the number of species under my pillow tonight! Piece for piece! So don’t even think about- Minho?”

Catatonic. That’s what Minho is right now. So scared he cannot move, scared of his situation, scared of how he’s _scared_ , scared of the consequent ruin that lays before him after this debacle concludes. Out. He needs to get out, escape this prison, this confinement; he can already picture the four walls folding in on themselves, rushing towards him from above with unstoppable intent- 

The nauseating lightness under his feet tells him the ship is midair, and the overwhelming nothingness in Minho’s mind slowly starts its retreat; the worst is over.

But Jisung is still staring at his frozen form, concern evident in his eyes. Concern that will only impede Minho.

Minho forces his mouth to move, even though it feels like he’s speaking through cotton. “Sorry,” he chokes out. “Just… just felt... dizzy.”

“Minho.” 

Oh. Oh no. That softness in Jisung’s voice. That sickeningly gentle, pink softness, betraying pity Minho _does not want_. For perhaps the first time, Minho wishes Jisung didn’t have such proclivity to impulsive feelings, not when it’s spent on Minho. Fickle emotion swims in Jisung’s eyes, just like the insincere apologies that streamed in after the incident, just like the barely-concealed irritation when Minho was still recovering- 

“I dunno what that was, but that sure didn’t look like dizziness… are you _sure_ you’re okay?”

"I'm _fine_ ," Minho snaps, before he can stop himself. A natural defence, an instinctive barrier. This is something Minho and Minho alone is responsible for; Jisung has no right to stick his nose into irrelevant aspects of Minho's life. Minho wants to snap something even more jagged, force Jisung away from him no matter what the cost, but his lips do not move.

Jisung stays quiet for a while. The soft humming of the engine fills the silence hanging heavy in the air. It should be a solid, comforting presence in the white noise in Minho’s head, but to Minho, even his own _breathing_ is too loud. Nothing is said.

Minho takes a deep breath, and the deafening thrumming in his chest slows down, just the slightest bit. Jisung hovers unsteadily in the doorway, not leaving, but not moving forward to help either. Huh. Minho would expect someone as warm-hearted as Jisung to be all over him, smothering him in coddling words of comfort and swaddling offers of assistance. The silent companionship that is provided instead is almost like a shelter.

Without warning, Minho’s legs buckle out from under him, suddenly reduced to metaphorical sludge. Mental weakness transferred to the physical realm. His hands shoot out to catch himself, but before his body collides with the hard ground, another warm presence presses against him, catching, supporting.

“Woah, there… you’re good now.” Jisung stays steady under Minho’s shaky self, not righting him, but not letting him fall either. Just letting Minho place an arm on his shoulder, and lean onto his back. Minho can’t see Jisung’s face from where he’s perched on Jisung’s shoulder blade. The burning shame on his face tells him he’s not sure if he wants to.

“ _How do I_ … Minho?” Jisung’s voice is low and soothing, a texture of warm that Minho hasn’t felt in… ages. “Can you breathe better now? You seemed like you were hyperventilating.”

Minho knows. He knows exactly what’s been seizing him each time he closes himself in a private room each time he has to leave solid ground. Yet hearing it from another person’s mouth only confirms his worst nightmare; Minho is at the complete mercy of this fear. His body is too drained to react to this revelation, but he knows he will spend a sleepless night mulling over it.

A hand frets over Minho’s arm at where it rests, wanting to provide physical contact yet not quite touching. “Uh… if you need anything-”

“No.” Minho can gather enough strength to at least say that one word. Then… almost as if his mind isn’t his own, another one: “Stay.”

And even though Minho’s speech sounds like that of an unintelligent life form, every limb in his body yelling _pathetic_ , Jisung stays. Stays, and doesn’t push Minho. Doesn’t probe for issues as anyone else would, or reprimand him for showing such vulnerability when he should be standing tall and confident. He just stays. 

Another chirp pierces through the air, and this time, Minho is too tired to hide his flinch. Jisung definitely felt that through their touch, but he doesn’t comment. His form shifts under Minho as he reaches for his analog. Hurriedly, Minho lifts his head and removes his hand from Jisung’s shoulder. He’s regained enough strength to support himself by now anyway. From his point of view from over Jisung’s shoulder, Minho’s eye unintentionally catches the message that hovers above Jisung’s projector.

_faulty gear: hey han_

_faulty gear: when your supposed ‘informant’ gave you those coordinates_

_faulty gear: did they happen to mention that there’s also a huge fucking asteroid belt in the way??_

_faulty gear: because there is_

Despite his mind feeling like scrambled mush, worry still shoves its way to the forefront of Minho’s mind. A gentle frown comes upon Minho’s lips. _An asteroid belt?_ They were the bane of any pilot. Reaction speed is put to the very test, visual depth perception suddenly becomes unreliable, and serenely drifting rocks become unknowing dooms of many an unfortunate ship. Anyone who tries to navigate through an asteroid belt would either be suicidal or a fool. 

“You should go,” he murmurs, injecting authority into his voice as if he’s in any position to be giving orders.

“I-” Jisung scrambles back a little, and Minho already feels the lack of his presence beside himself. “Are you sure?” the boy whispers, looking at Minho in earnest, genuinity shining through in every facet of his expression. Like Minho is actually his concern. Why is Jisung treating Minho with such care? What would he stand to gain from this kind of good treatment?

Minho gently nudges Jisung towards the door with a weak hand, letting his expression fall neutral. “You can go,” he says, more firmly. Maybe that will give Jisung enough reassurance to believe Minho has recovered, regardless of how true that may be. It has worked countless times before on more cunning people who have only offered up provisional comfort. 

Jisung bites his lip uncertainly. Surprise bursts in Minho at his worried hesitation, not unpleasant, but novel all the same. 

Minho heaves a characteristic sigh, but it isn’t as exasperated as Minho expects it to be. Instead, it sounds almost… _amused_? No, that isn’t the right word. Minho can’t seem to find the right description for the inexplicable warmth in his sternum right now. In any other case, Minho would have treated this kind of hesitation as overbearing. He would be a fool to not see that Jisung, endearing Jisung, who has no clue about Minho’s true identity, still takes his wellbeing to heart.

Jisung’s analog beeps again. 

_faulty gear: yo what’s taking so long_

_faulty gear: are you guys making out or something???_

Typical Changbin sarcasm, Minho presumes. The boy next to him emits a sound that sounds a lot like choking. “Uh,” Jisung says, rather eloquently.

Minho decides to save the boy from certain mollification. “It seems you’re needed somewhere else,” he comments, glad that his voice is back to its usual calm, level state.

The boy exhales and makes to get up, yet his head still turns to Minho in one final glance. Usually, Minho would have stared on passively, waiting with mild irritation for those seeking his favour to make themselves scarce. But something within him elicits his mouth to curl up in a small smile, conveying sincerity that _yes, he is alright, he can manage._ Minho’s starting to believe that himself with every passing second _._

His fingers curl more firmly around the fabric that lay in its grasp. “I still have an armband to put on, don’t I?”

“I… I suppose,” Jisung murmurs in a gentle tone that Minho could compare to the softest of feathers. “I’ll get going then. Yell if you need anything, and yell _really_ loudly, metal isn’t exactly the best thing to yell through but,” unsaid experience glimmers in his eyes, “trust me, it’s possible.”

Minho’s half-certain he doesn’t want to know.

The doors hiss close once more, leaving Minho alone, in the private premises of a person he’s met less than a day ago. As he picks up a golden chain and winds it around his armband like he remembers _them_ doing on special occasions, thoughts rage in the nexus of his mind, clashing and warring until it becomes a battlefield. Now that he is alone, Minho relinquishes the rein on those thoughts, just the slightest bit, if only to keep his own sanity, for the experience he just had was something that definitely required rumination. A second golden chain winds itself around his wrist as his mind grasps onto wisps of memories of the most recent events. Jisung… stayed. Why did he stay? Why did he show such patience and care to Minho? Did he have an ulterior agenda in mind? Something he wanted from Minho?

As the glass flower pins onto the breast pocket, a brilliant lavender amongst the enveloping darkness, Jisung’s voice slips unbidden into the crevices of his consciousness. _“...they must have once been like us too, right?”_

… Maybe Jisung sees Minho just like everyone else.

And maybe that isn’t a bad thing.

* * *

When Minho emerges from Jisung’s room, he has no clue where to go. His first instinct is to head back to the cargo bay, which seems to have been unofficially partitioned as his stomping grounds. However, it would be very irresponsible, to say the least, to leave his safety in the hands of a pirate crew and the whims of the asteroid belt. Yet, would Minho be welcomed in their cockpit? There was no real cause for them to trust him enough to be an innocuous presence within such a crucial centrepoint in their ship, should he even bother trying?

The speaker crackles before his thoughts can wander any more. “Yo, shiny!” Minho stifles a sigh at the reference to the endearment the Blades used on him. Perhaps wearing the chains isn’t such a wise idea after all. Jisung’s voice echoes once more in the corridor. “You look a little lost, wanna join?” Soft rustling, a stern voice filters in from the background static. Petulance leaks into Jisung’s voice. “What? It’s not like he can do anything-” More murmurs. “I thought you wanted me to be responsible! This is me! Being responsible! And not leaving our guest all alone and confused while we’re all chilling in the cool kids spot!”

A heavy sigh.

“Cap’s given the green light! Come on in!”

Even though there’s evidently a camera spying on Minho’s every move, out of sheer courtesy Minho knocks twice on the door before pressing the access button. Sleek black metal glints at him as it glides by, revealing the trio sitting there, and behind that, the very intimidating obstacle that stood between them, and Minho’s destination. From the cockpit, the asteroids appear even more monolithic, and even more challenging to navigate around.

Minho steps into the cockpit, and allows the door to slide shut behind him. Now, he’s enclosed in a room of three pirates, all sitting in various relaxed positions; Changbin sitting back on one arm against the chair rest, Chan leaning back against the dashboard, and Jisung… spinning around in his seat.

Changbin lets out an obvious scoff as he turns towards the asteroid field, away from Minho. Clearly, he’s over the little intermissary interval with the oil spurt. Minho thinks back to how willing Jisung was to offer assistance to him, disregarding everything at stake to try his utmost to provide some form of comfort. Observing Changbin’s attitude now, Minho wouldn’t be surprised if someone with the likes of Changbin would have left him for dead. After all, his apparent protectiveness wouldn’t let him go out of his way in the name of “being nice”. Not a lot of people did in this kind of cutthroat universe. Heck, _Minho_ wouldn’t do it. Yet Jisung did.

Why is Minho getting caught up in this again?

The resident pilot shifts once more, stretching out in his chair and inadvertently displaying his physical build; Minho has to admit that it’s certainly not lacking in musculature, somehow staying lean whilst accumulating a decent amount of mass. Then Changbin pulls his jacket off his shoulders. Minho’s mouth goes dry.

Where pale, tender skin should be, is the cold harsh glint of metal… argentum, to be precise. Under the shadow of his shirt sleeve, the joints meld together seamlessly, forming one perfectly synchronized mechanical instrument capable of great destruction. Minho is very much wise to the fact that argentum is one of the stronger metals out there in the galaxy, compatible to fit a large range of weapons. With a limb made from such a formidable material, it would not bode well for Changbin’s opponent if they were ever to clash in unarmed combat. 

When Changbin glances askance at Minho with a mean glint in his eye, Minho realises that’s probably the message the mechanic wants to send to Minho. So much for only being the archetypical mechanic always standing on the sidelines, Minho muses. There’s a fierce flame of passion in his eyes, but unlike that of Jisung’s, it licks at Minho’s feet hungrily, aching to consume and destroy at first opportunity where Jisung’s flame sought to provide warmth. 

Resolve gathers in Minho’s gut, strong and resolute. He must not, within all possible reason, let Changbin know of the Blades.

“Hey, rich boy!” The raspy voice of the centre of Minho’s rumination cuts into his thoughts, dissipating his ponderings like a harsh gale would a delicate mist. The pilot doesn’t deign to make eye contact with Minho, instead staring obstinately at the asteroid belt like it’s a mid inconvenience and not a potential harbinger of doom. “Any ideas?” 

Minho hums noncommittally, several scenarios popping into his mind, none of them viable unless he wanted to end up a smattering of atoms floating in open space, or his ability exposed, which is equally horrifying.

“Do you think we could blast through them?” Jisung pipes up. “You know, use good ol’ brute force and just-” He makes small punching motions to complete his suggestion. Minho doesn’t know if it’s supposed to help his case (it isn’t), but something in his chest turns a little sweeter at the action.

“Trust me, if we could, we wouldn’t be stuck right now,” Chan replies, but there isn’t a tinge of annoyance in his voice, contrary to what Minho would have expected from such an immature gesture. “In all honesty, I’m considering using the old course we were originally taking. I mean, sure, I guess this route is a little shorter, but getting through this asteroid belt for the sake of convenience isn’t worth the risk.”

Minho subconsciously tenses. _But it_ is _worth the risk_. Of course, he couldn’t reveal this unseen risk to Chan without risking his and Changbin’s wrath. Jisung looks similarly trapped, caught at a crossroads as to how to convince his crew to take his suggested course without spilling the truth. What could Minho possibly use to reason with them whilst not looking like a complete lunatic?

A violent crash explodes in Minho’s ears as the floor suddenly tilts. Minho is sent careening into the nearest wall as he sees Changbin topple out of his own chair in his peripheral vision. That perspective is ripped away from him as the floor quakes once more and Minho tumbles with it, bashing into the console with a painful grunt. Through the ringing in his ears he hears the rest of the crew let out similar sounds of shock and pain. 

With incredible effort Minho pulls himself to his feet and staggers to the windscreen. Judging from the direction the floor tilted in, the cause, whatever it was, came from somewhere to their rear right. He detects someone moving somewhere near him, hopefully one of the crew has gained their bearings enough to react. Minho, meanwhile, scours the scanners, hoping to get a sense of what they’re facing. When he sees a ship on the radar, a mere ten clicks from their own vessel, his eyebrows furrow in confusion. How had the _Broken Compass_ ’s sensors not picked up on the ship’s signal earlier?

Chan makes a sound of bewilderment beside Minho, clueing Minho in that the captain is equally as clueless as Minho. “Are our sensors really that outdated?” he wonders aloud, irritated. His tone leaves no space for argument, his gaze of steel as he glares determinedly into the open space makes Minho finally fully understand why he’s the captain of the ship. “Changbin, get on this!”

“Getting on it!” Changbin stumbles to the controls vaguely on Minho’s left. “I’m turning her around to get a proper visual! Han, can you stand?”

A groan answers the pilot. Minho whips around to see Jisung curled up under a ledge in the console. The way the boy cradles his cranium means his head probably had a highly unfavourable encounter with the ship’s interior. As the hull shudders from another hit, sustained better now that Chan has control over the shields, Minho hastily makes his way to Jisung, feet following his pure instinct in the rush of the moment. He shoves aside the chair that rolls recklessly towards him and settles down at Jisung’s side. A whimper escapes the boy. Impulse compels Minho to reach out, grasp Jisung’s arms, gently guide them down so he can examine the situation. When Jisung's hand is lifted from his forehead, a trickle of blood follows. Minho's heart skips an unwarranted beat. Blood is never good.

A shout of surprise emanates from Changbin. “That ship’s made from Elysium too?” 

Without a second to spare Minho grabs Jisung by the underarms and drags him out of his corner so Jisung can get more air, and Minho can assess the injury better. Upon closer inspection of the semi-conscious boy reveals that the wound isn’t deep, it’s just bleeding a lot. Minho quickly yanks off his armband as the chains unwind themselves and lay around haphazardly. He presses the fabric to its owner’s scalp, fervently waiting for the blood to clot and praying that not too much blood soaks into the armband. Its black shade is somewhat a curse; stains do not show easily, therefore Minho would not be able to gauge how much blood has been lost.

Jisung stirs beneath Minho. “H-hmph?” he murmurs. His brown eyes, dull from pain, flicker up to meet Minho’s fretful ones. “M-Minho...?”

“Stay still,” Minho tells him, looking up frantically to find something better to treat Jisung’s wound with. He doesn’t know much about first aid, but stopping the blood flow is always the first step. 

“Han! Shiny!” Changbin suddenly barks. “We have four people on this ship but two people at controls, what in Asteria’s name are you doing back there?”

“We’re a little occupied,” Minho snaps irritatedly, too caught up in his whirlwind of panic and _Jisung_ to pay proper attention to the situation at hand. His eyes land on said pilot. Or rather, the garment that hangs off his shoulder as his fingers fly frenzied across the controls. “Gear, give me your jacket!”

“Why the fuck would I-” Changbin spares a glance behind him. His eyes widen considerably as they take in the scene on the floor. “Yeah- yeah, sure.” He grabs at his jacket, clumsily yanking it off and tossing it to Minho before he has to turn back to the windscreen to continue outmanoeuvre their attacker. His argentum arm gleams in the dull glow from the nether. “Once you’re done with that, make yourself useful and get on the guns! Those turrets on the other ship aren’t gonna blow themselves up.”

Minho, with the help of a fast-recovering Jisung, manages to fashion a makeshift bandage around Jisung’s head, which in any other situation would look absolutely comedic, but now all Minho cares about is that Jisung is safe, so he can carry on with his next task.

“Go,” Jisung utters to Minho.

“Hm?” Minho trains his eyes on the gap peeking out between the folds of fabric.

“Go,” Jisung’s voice comes back stronger, the warmth in its timbre dragging Minho back to meet his eyes, now brighter and more alert. “I’ll be fine,” the boy promises. Something in Minho’s sternum tugs. 

_How can I be sure?_ a voice at the back his head says. It rings in his head, foreign yet nostalgic, like an indistinct song that he hasn’t heard for years.

A hand pushes at Minho’s upper arm. The melody is sung louder. “They need you more than I do,” Jisung tells him, and in his eyes Minho can see that gleam of staunch loyalty he’s glimpsed so many times before. “I like to think I can work through a little cut on my own.”

Minho exhales slowly. Of course. He’s being stupid. Jisung isn’t dumb; he’s perfectly capable of looking after himself, he’s probably done it many more times before Minho’s even met him. This is obvious. Why was Minho’s first instinct still to rush to Jisung when he saw the boy cradling his head alone in a dark corner of the cockpit?

Another tremor runs through the ship. Minho shoves the questions out of his head. He can mull over those later, at a different time when he isn’t in imminent danger of being blown apart. Now, he rises to his feet and rushes over to the weapons control, hands flying as he gets acquainted with the orientations. A glance upwards through the windscreen confirms that they’re under attack by a hostile vessel, though it’s hard to glimpse due to its small size and dark colouration. The scanner, however, flickers, and that’s enough for Minho to fight back. Gripping the trigger, Minho carefully toggles the exterior muzzle in its direction, and fires.

The blast hits true, intercepting a countershot by the opponent beautifully and erupting in a majestic blue cloud of ionized plasma. Minho is quick to take more shots, aiming for accuracy more than frequency as Changbin masterfully steers the ship away from the assailant. Still, since physical aggression isn’t his specialty, some shots miss, and Minho watches those energy blasts fire into open space with much rue before moving on to the next one. 

Now that Minho’s full attention is on their opponent, he’s able to get a better view of what they’re up against. The single-pilot fighter jet performs lithe and nimble acrobatics, swooping away from anything Minho fires at it. A growl of frustration escapes Minho’s lips, especially because Changbin’s taking evasive maneuvers of his own, decreasing Minho’s own accuracy. Between shots, Minho spares a glance at where exactly they’re headed. The blood in his veins runs ice cold.

They’re headed right for the asteroid belt.

“Gear?” Jisung’s voice trembles with trepidation. “Tell me if I’m hallucinating from brain concussion, but are we heading _towards_ those asteroids?”

“Judging from your immaculate observation skills, your brain’s working as per usual, Han.” A tough, grim light shines in Changbin’s eyes as he reluctantly accelerates the booster with tense muscles.

Chan perks up from the shields, looking much like a small startled creature as he gazes at the looming shadows impending towards them. “Wha- Gear, what are you doing?”

“ _Keeping us alive_ !” Changbin grits out. “That blasted ship is definitely cornering us, I can’t go anywhere else unless I want to get within a range that will _decimate_ us!”

“Well fuck that, like this we’ll die either way!” Chan fumes, looking very much like he wants to snatch the controls right out of Changbin’s hand, if not for the fact that he’s busy playing an unsaid game of tag team with Minho fending off the offensive. “Let’s just lightspeed out of here!”

“Not possible!” Changbin releases one hand to vaguely gesture to the other ship. “I’d recognise that thing anywhere; that’s a military-grade tractor beam! We’d get sucked in in a second if we tried to edge past it. I’m barely keeping us out of range as it is!"

An idea worms its way into Minho’s head. It isn’t the most optimal time to push an ulterior agenda, but Minho will take any chance he gets. “If I may,” he cuts in curtly, eyes still trained on their pursuer, “this is actually quite a strategic move.”

“Flying towards a literal starship graveyard is a _good strategy_?” Jisung exclaims incredulously. 

"It negates the ship's advantage of their tractor beam," Minho replies firmly. "If they try to activate that beam amongst a mass of enormous metal-rich asteroids, they'll run the risk of crushing themselves."

"Maybe, but we'll crush _ourselves_ getting through those asteroids!" 

Minho scoffs. "Have a little more faith in your pilot, Jisung! If he's steering towards an asteroid belt surely he must know a thing or two about evasive maneuvers."

"I'm honoured, really, I am," Changbin deadpans, "but there's a huge difference between rapidly moving ships with predictable visual estimates and slow lumbering rocks that love to fuck around with people’s eyes."

Chan heaves a great sigh. “Whatever, we’ve gotten too close to the belt. It’s too late to back up now; we’re effectively trapped.” Despite the despondence in his words, his eyes shine bright with a determination almost as radiant as the light that can emit from his hands. “We’ll try flying through the asteroid belt.”

“Cap, what are you-" Changbin starts, only to be stopped by a stern hand by Chan.

Said captain turns his gaze onto Minho. What once was blistering determination is a stoniness so frigid a shiver involuntarily runs down Minho's spine. His eyes, for the briefest of moments, shines a brilliant golden. “Don’t take me for a fool, Minho. A detour to Lumina? I gave you the benefit of doubt at first, but I know _exactly_ what Lumina stands for.” 

Minho’s gut twists, and severely enough to unseat his calm state of mind. He should react, somehow, bargain or negotiate. It's his specialty. Yet, no words escape his mouth; it must be remnants of his emotional takeover from before.

Chan paces around Minho, who can only stand there wordlessly, frozen. Jisung’s nervous presence hovers somewhere in the back, but it’s diminished in the face of Chan’s commanding stance. The proximity sensors go off as the _Broken Compass_ draws ever closer to the belt. 

“Cap, we’re almost entering,” Changbin reports.

The warmth that Chan briefly regarded Minho with has all but vanished. Gazing into Chan’s blazing irises, Minho feels well and truly cornered. Deprived of decision, no way to worm his way out with sweet, silver words. Chan takes a deep breath. “I don’t know what little game you’ve got yourself involved in, but let me make this clear: leave my crew and I out of it. We want no part of any of your business.”

The captain’s feet come to a halt in front of Minho. “If we get out of this, and reach Lumina alive, you are to leave this ship, Minho, and _never_ cross our path again.”

* * *

The silence is deafening as Changbin gingerly steers the hull of the ship into the belt. Although it’s no longer visible, the shadow of their pursuer seems to loom over their wake. Jisung’s recalibrated the sensors to trigger at a smaller distance, but even so, with even the smallest pebble within the vicinity they beep incessantly. It’s starting to create a sonorous ring in Minho’s head.

Minho knows, he _knows_ that even with Chan’s ultimatum there’s almost no hope of fulfilling it. Even the most skilled pilot had a near zero possibility of surviving, unless he had some downright miraculous stroke of luck. Yet, Minho _has_ to survive this obstacle. And by that virtue, the ship, along with Chan, Changbin and Jisung, have to too. Which leaves Minho with only one option left; the most rash and risky option, a task he is only partially prepared to undertake. But the option with the highest chance of success.

Minho quietly seats himself next to the external monitor, under the pretense of deep rumination, and extends his senses farther than he ever has, detecting matter as far as he can reach, envisioning in his mind a map as large as he can stretch. Through the cockpit, through the ship’s exterior, into the cold grasp of open space. And the asteroids start to retreat.

Each asteroid moved feels like heaving a whole mountain, which, Minho admits, might not be too far off a comparison. Smaller asteroids don’t require much thought, but it’s the larger ones that Minho has the most trouble shifting with his mind. Before long, beads of sweat are trickling down Minho’s forehead from the sheer mental strain. 

In the corner of one screen, Minho catches a dark shadow flickering, hovering. With what effort he can spare, he flings more manageable rocks in its general direction.

Through the overbearing white noise in his ears Minho barely hears Changbin’s voice. “I hate to be the pessimist here, but how the _fuck_ have we not been hit by a single asteroid yet?”

“I wouldn’t tempt fate like that, Gear,” Chan mutters, but his tone, too, sounds mystified. “Let’s focus more on how our fellow Elysium ship hasn’t imploded either.”

Only then, Minho detects the hull of the ship is deftly dodging all the impedance Minho is flinging at it. Minho offhandedly sends an asteroid straight for its bow… only for the ship to deftly dart to the side before it can even be grazed. Through the blur of his sweat, Minho’s eyes narrow. _Huh._

A hand brushes on Minho’s shoulder, making him flinch hard and breaking his concentration. He quickly reassumes his previous state of rapt attention, but now he’s aware that the third member of the _Broken Compass_ is aware of his current state of disarray. That hand returns into his peripheral vision, only to gently wipe stray beads of sweat away from his forehead. 

For a split second, Minho forgets how to breathe.

Talking occurs in the background, but Minho can’t afford to sacrifice his focus on such trivial things. Now, all he can see is the monitor before him, the asteroids beyond the Elysium walls, and the flickering dark shadow beyond _that_.

Jisung’s low murmur reverberates in his eardrums. “Gear says we’re almost out. I dunno what you’re doing, but keep it up.”

In the back of Minho’s strained mind, something clicks. Jisung knows Minho has something to do with it. Minho shoves that thought aside. He’ll unpack it later when he has mental space to panic. Besides, he has a larger problem to take care of. 

The shadow flickers mockingly in the corner of the leftmost monitor, never straying far away from the _Broken Compass_ ’ tail. With great effort, Minho extends his mental map to that vicinity, too. His hands, even his legs, are quaking violently even as they uphold nothing, manifesting the sheer stress his psyche is sustaining.

Summoning all the strength left, Minho channels his energy into one final surge, the sprint before the finish line, the last strike before the victory-

A swarm of asteroids assemble beneath the monitor’s line of sight, held together by the mere might of Minho’s mind alone, and accelerates upwards, towards the one persistent target-

Changbin’s startled shout shatters Minho’s concentration. 

“We’re out!”

“And the ship?” Chan urges.

Minho can feel his control slipping away, but he has to hang on, at least until he knows for sure they’re safe-

Changbin rotates the ship and squints. “Unless it’s hiding behind one of those Asteria-forsaken asteroids, I think we’ve lost it.”

Jisung lets out a shout of jubilation. Chan quickly moves to do scouting and damage inspection, but there’s a grin on his face too. Reassured, Minho finally, fully releases his hold, but his mind spins intensely, reeling from being relieved so suddenly after bearing such a strenuous burden, an elastic snapping back after being stretched too thin and lashing him painfully-

Exhaustion floods Minho’s limbs; the threshold has been surpassed. It feels like it was surpassed a long time ago; Minho really wasn’t ready for this arduous a task. Minho feels himself slumping forward, but there’s not enough energy in his bones to rise back up. Reality slips away from his consciousness like sand through fingers, he tries hard to grasp on, but his head is spinning, and his limbs are paralysed.

Jisung’s yell is the last thing that rings in his ears, before darkness overtakes his vision.

* * *

Sterile silence greets Minho when he comes to. That, and an incessant ringing in his head. He’s resting on a soft surface, and there's a gentle hum in the ambience that caresses his senses. He’s safe. Minho half considers letting himself slip back into blissful darkness, soothe the soreness in his muscles and the aching in his head once more. As the events of the day flood back to him, he forces his eyes open despite his better judgement.

Through his blurry vision, he spots a silhouette in the dim light, seated near the bed he’s on. Bright brown eyes and a gaze of fire flash in Minho’s head. _Could it be…_

The silhouette is wearing black clothes. Something in Minho’s chest inexplicably sinks. And something else in his stomach churns.

Upon seeing movement from Minho the captain sits up, rigid, and Minho is reminded needlessly of the treacherous image he’s built in Chan’s eyes. _Well,_ he thinks, ignoring the twinge in his sternum, _that’s not going to be a problem soon_.

“Do you feel good enough to move?” Chan murmurs, which the pounding in Minho’s head is grateful for.

Minho groans, shifting and attempting to sit up. As soon as his head has reached past the point of incline, a strong wave of dizziness makes his vision spin. Groaning, he slumps back onto the bed. 

“I’ll take that as a no.”

Minho doesn’t reply; just stares up at the black ceiling. It seems they were still on the _Broken Compass_ , but the lack of turbulence indicated a peaceful traverse. Chan shifts.

“... how long more until we reach?” Minho tries not to wince at how hoarse his voice sounds, like it’s being grated into coarse, uneven bits and set on hot gravel.

“About T-minus twenty minutes,” Chan replies candidly.

 _And that’s twenty more minutes until my time on this ship is up,_ Minho thinks ratherly bitterly. How would he even get off Lumina once he stepped foot on it? Sure, according to Arctus it was Blade-free, but that didn’t guarantee that he would find a crew as cooperative as the _Broken Compass_ , and once he’s off world… he’s fair game again. Just waiting to be dumped once more in favour of an undying loyalty to another organisation-

It would be so much easier to just slip back into slumber and forget this for a while longer. Yet Minho cannot. He has never been one to back down from a challenge, and he certainly wouldn’t give up in the face of a simple large obstacle. If this was going to be the pattern, he’d find another ship, jump to another planet, find another ship, rinse and repeat. He’d bargain and use his wealth as an incentive again, he’d run away and assassinate more Blades as the chase continues, he could survive like that. But at the mere prospect of leaving this ship, this ship in particular… a frown folds on Minho’s lips. Not an incensed one, not a sulky one… a _sad_ one.

Fumbling noises come from behind a barrier, snapping Minho out of his chaotic thoughts. He hears Chan rise, and the door hisses open.

“...how’s he doing?”

 _Bright brown eyes and a gaze of fire_.

“He’s awake.” More movement. “Sung, I know you’re concerned, but we need to let him rest-”

“Just for a bit!” Jisung’s eager voice floats to Minho’s ears. He perks in piqued interest.

A sigh. “Five minutes.”

The door hisses shut.

Minho lies dormant, waiting for the boy to settle down on the seat beside him and get over with whatever he wants to say. Instead, there’s a soft scraping of chair legs, as Jisung drags the chair closer to Minho. Subconsciously, Minho turns his head to meet Jisung’s eyes, and the heavy weight on his chest feels lighter.

The boy doesn’t let the silence sink in for long. “Are you... alright?”

Although his stomach churns oddly, Minho raises a weak thumbs up.

Suspicious doubt flickers in Jisung’s eyes, but he lets it pass. A soft exhale escapes Jisung’s lips. “You really scared me, back there… I know you somehow got us past the asteroids, but _passing out_ from it?” He takes a deep breath, biting his lip.

Jisung’s doing it again, Minho realises. He’s sending Minho those sympathetic eyes, brimming with raw concern. They look almost… imploring, digging through the deepest layers of Minho’s soul just through the contact of their eyes. The boy emanates too much compassion for this galaxy. 

Minho abruptly turns his head back towards the ceiling. “I’m fine,” he replies curtly.

“Dude,” Jisung scoffs. “You can’t possibly faint right in front of my eyes, turn around and tell me you’re ‘fine’.”

Ah, there go Jisung and his odd Terran words. Minho wonders for a split second exactly how the interest came about, but it's none of his business. Jisung isn't his business.

_You patching him up in the cockpit says otherwise-_

_For the love of Asteria, shut up,_ he snaps back.

A warm hand suddenly smothers Minho's forehead. Slight panic overtakes Minho's system, making him startle up before flopping back down onto the bed with a faint groan. "What was that for?" he protests.

"Just- just checking up on you! Like a decent person!" Jisung exclaims. "Who knows, you could be burning up!"

"I appreciate your decency, but if I were burning up, I think I'd be able to tell, Han," Minho says dryly.

Jisung splutters in reply. When Minho glances back to Jisung, his puffy cheeks have gotten slightly pink. An indescribable feeling blossoms in Minho's heart, something that tempts a smile onto his lips.

A knock resounds from the door, making the two jump. "Time's up, Han," Chan calls from outside. "We need to start preparing for landing."

Jisung looks back at Minho, lying down on a bed and probably not looking his best. "Go," Minho says, feeling a strong sense of deja vu. "I'm not going anywhere."

Yet, Jisung doesn’t move. The atmosphere has fallen oddly solemn; they both know Minho will break his promise soon, and the reluctance in Jisung’s eyes is enough to wrench something out of Minho’s heart, something that feels like… _hope_. Yearning for something out of reach.

And so neither move, stuck staring at each other, the air between fraught with unspeakable _something_ , like a bud on the verge of blossoming in its full beauty. Jisung’s eyes are a pretty shade of brown, Minho thinks. He’d want the blossom to be that captivating shade. A soft sigh passes through Minho’s lips, tentative, as though even the slightest movement will break the moment they’re sharing.

Chan yells from outside again, and the moment shatters. “Jisung!” he hollers, “Gear tells you to stop making out!”

Minho winces. Back again with the crass humour. Jisung is clearly affected too, judging from his crimson ears and awkward shuffling. “I’m… really sorry,” the boy says abashedly. “That’s just uh, Gear being Gear.”

In an uncharacteristic move, Minho merely shrugs in reply. Way too casual a reaction, but Minho reasons that if this is the last time he'll ever meet Jisung... “Yeah, I figured. It’s alright.” He tilts his head questioningly. “Still, don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Deep down, Minho feels unhappy at the prospect of Jisung being anywhere but _here_. But he’d have to start getting used to it; their paths were dictated to diverge and clinging on to last moments of ephemeral sentimentality wouldn’t do.

“Yeah,” Jisung exhales. “Yeah, I do.” He bites his lip, emotions revealing once more. “So… bye, I guess. See you around?”

Minho thinks that goodbyes shouldn’t be this hopeful. “See you around.”

Jisung turns and heads towards the door Minho stays, watching his slowly retreating back. He’s nearly there when Minho suddenly calls out, "Wait, Jisung!"

The boy halts immediately and whirls around. "Yeah?"

Minho allows a gentle smile to form on his lips, trying to convey volumes more than he ever could with words. "Thank you."

Jisung freezes, blinking, and Minho is starting to think he did something wrong when the boy smiles shyly back. "I'm just glad you're alright," he murmurs, before finally slipping out the room.

Minho's heart pounds in his chest with an unnatural ferocity.

By the time the exhaust system puffs out the last fumes, Minho is already in the cargo bay, trying not to look like he'll sway into the wall any second. With each passing breath he feels strength seep back into his body. Now, all he has to do, is await his fate.

The doors slide open, and the captain walks out, satchel in hand. Now that they’re not caught in the midst of mortal peril and in the safety of the ship bay, Chan’s expression takes on a more rueful aura. Nevertheless, there is a layer of hardened determination beneath that, one not so easily dissuaded. With a hiss, the cargo bay door lowers open.

The captain passes the satchel to Minho. The texture feels grainy in his hands, unaccustomed to such coarse and thick material. Minho grips it harder. 

“Your clothes,” Chan says in lieu of explanation, “and some extra supplies, complimentary, of course. We wouldn’t be so heartless as to leave you stranded on a foreign planet without anything to support yourself with-” his voice lowers conspiratorially, as if any prying ear could be listening, “-especially with the people that you have on your tail.” Chan claps Minho on the back, who stumbles from surprise. He moves to meet Minho’s eye, hazel eyes gleaming. “The rest of the crew couldn’t be here, Gear and Han are both on damage control duty, but… I mean it when I say I wish you all the best in your travels, Minho. Our little Hannie has grown… quite fond of you.” (Heat rises in Minho’s face, but he quickly suppresses it.) “I’m sorry that we had to part like this, but… I need to think about my ship. My crew.” Chan shoots Minho a contrite smile, eyes crinkling. Typically, Minho would write it off as an irrelevant social courtesy, but now, he ignores the prickling in his heart that feels suspiciously like _sympathy_.

Minho makes a decision. It would cost him, but if he's honest… he owes them as much. He might be unconcerned with issues of morality, but dignity is something he does not take lightly. 

Mutely, he sets the satchel down and fiddles with his finger.

“No, no, that’s really not necessary,” Chan begins, but Minho’s already holding his hand out, within it containing… a jewel that captured a supernova in its core. Chan nearly _ogles_ at the jewellery. “Are- are you sure?” he murmurs. “This- this is-”

“-your payment,” Minho says.

Chan stammers as he hesitantly retrieves the Levantarium ring from Minho’s hand, knowing these would be worth a mountain-load of species if traded at the right pawn shop. More than enough to make up for any expenses. “Thank you,” he says.

A tinge of melancholy lingers on Minho’s smile. “It was part of our deal,” he replies simply. “A just compensation for the peril I placed you in." He hoists his satchel onto his shoulder, heart pounding. He sends Chan a smirk. "You were not the only one to grow fond, captain. I trust you will see to getting Gear gets those upgrades, and yourself a set of new clothes. And perhaps Han some neater sleeping quarters." He nods cordially. "Farewell.”

Chan splutters in shock before schooling his expression into something more solemn. He nods back, a smile twitching on his lips. "Farewell, Minho."

And as Minho paces out the cargo door and into the golden light of Lumina, he cannot help but feel as if he is losing something. 

* * *

Who was Minho fooling, he most certainly can _not_ bargain his way off Lumina. Because there are no crews to bargain with to start.

It appeared that Changbin set the _Broken Compass_ down in a more isolated sector of the planet, and wisely so, seeing that customs would be more lax, yet it is causing Minho _immense_ inconvenience. He has to keep moving, lest he is stuck here forever, or worse, _caught_.

And maybe in the recesses of his vision as he wanders around the golden huts he spots a flash of brown, a wisp of a mischievous grin, and his heart wrenches without prompt, but he shoves all that aside. He would be with his crew, safe, perhaps even off-planet by now. Just because they never had a proper parting doesn’t mean he’s something Minho can attach his emotions to any longer. 

The planet in itself is a marvellous beauty to behold. Everything is bathed in an odd golden light, and a quick glance up reveals not a sun, but a large moon, swallowing half the sky but radiating that same golden light. At each turn, Minho catches items sparkling in the light, bright enough to rival the golden chains dangling from his armband and wrist. Upon closer inspection, Minho discovers it to be small, miniscule specks of a crystal of some type. But he does not linger long on that. He has to keep moving.

He makes another turn, hot on the trail of what he hopes is a central agora, anywhere he could gather information and get out of here as soon as possible. Then - something darts behind him. Instantly, Minho tenses up. That was not the other peeks he had seen. He could write those off as hallucinations, his mind mistaking something for another.

But _this_ … felt more malicious. More sinister. And usually Minho wouldn't listen so intuitively to his gut, but in the end, fear wins out.

Minho starts walking faster.

And the shadow follows faster too.

Dread fills Minho's stomach, cold, hard, heavy. _No. It couldn't be…_

With no prior warning Minho breaks out into a dash, _he had to get out of here, what was he thinking believing he was safe_ -

A dark figure leaps down at Minho from the top of an inconspicuous hut, _how had they gotten up there so quickly_? Minho barely has his wits about him to dodge, swinging around into a low crouch. The shadow rises up, grasping what appears to be a staff in his hand, except there’s a thicker mass of metal on each side, the topmost glitching and sparking with blue energy, and on that same side, a blade that gleams insidiously in the light. Minho stiffens. He recognises that type of staff; this will not be an easy foe to beat.

He has two choices now. Stay and fight, or make a run for it.

Minho runs.

For the third time throughout this journey, Minho is running. He's not even sure if his body can sustain the strain he must be placing on it, but he has more pressing concerns, like the hooded figure that is hot on his trail, relentless in their pursuit. Minho hazards a guess from the black colour palette, that this must be the pilot of the Elysium fighter that antagonised the _Broken Compass_ not long ago. But… Blades aren't welcome here.

Right?

Under his breath, Minho cusses Arctus out. Jisung had been _swindled_ , given away valuable information like a fool, and Arctus must have sold them out in turn, alerting Minho's captors of their new destination.

"Bastard!" Minho swears, not sure if he's angrier at Arctus, Jisung or even himself, for not predicting this very event. He had to be better than this.

Something swipes at Minho's feet, nearly making him stumble. His feet counter the effect, making larger strides to compensate for the sudden loss in momentum, but Minho can already feel his strength fading. Then… if Minho can’t rely on his speed anymore, he has only one other option.

The jewel on his belt soundlessly swings open once more.

Minho counts down, then makes a hard right and whirls around, poison at the ready. Until he realises as the figure swings around the corner… the hood comes with a mask. _Of course._ He’s just pitted himself against an enemy impervious to his only weapon at hand.

Well… not the _only_ one.

With a quick glance around Minho sends a crate flying towards the dark figure, which shatters feebly with a strike of the spear. Next, Minho sends a metal barrel. It’s instantly subjected to the same fate. Backing up, Minho yanks at anything heavy enough to exert his mind, and a speeder flies past. At the back of his mind, Minho prays the owner doesn’t notice the absence of his speeder before Minho is forced to make restitution. 

However, at the impending projectile the figure simply raises their spear, and fires a single laser bullet, imploding the vehicle before it can even graze them. Minho gulps heavily, looking behind him. Before he can turn back around the blade has come to swing at his feet once more, except they hit true. Minho tumbles to the ground, barely rolling to one side as the spear jabs at the place he once was. Yet, despite the aggressive advances, something still feels off about this shadowy figure…

Stealth. It was the swiftness with which their feet moved, the fatal accuracy with which they struck, the silence with which they ran. All the qualities a good Blade lacks.

“How are you a Blade?” Minho huffs as he gets back up on his feet, testing the waters.

To his surprise, the figure halts in their attack. They tilt their head. “ _Blade_ ?” They sound almost _offended_. “Whoever said I was a Blade?” 

Minho freezes. As expected from a mask with a mouth filter, the voice comes out deep, distorted, obviously aimed at hiding this figure’s identity. But, beneath that hard layer of anger, Minho detects something else. Something almost… childlike.

Minho could very well be dealing with a _child_.

That soon proves to be the least of Minho’s concerns as he darts away from the blade slowly edging closer and closer to him. Something bumps against his back. Minho glances up. It’s a wall; he’s trapped himself in an alley. A slew of curse words spill over in his mind, but externally his mouth draws into nothing but a grim line.

The mysterious shadow hovers over him, black cape casting an ominous shade over the wide alleyway. Minho hopes, for a faint second, that any of the residents would open their doors, see the scene in front of them, and offer their aid. None come. He’s on his own, with no reckless plan or strike of good luck to rescue him.

For a heartbeat, Minho misses Jisung.

A gasp rips from Minho’s lips as the spear is levelled at Minho’s throat. “I’d be nice and say we could do this the easy way,” the dark figure says, once again in that distorted voice. “But then again, it wasn’t very nice of you to damage my fighter like that.”

Minho wonders if he can summon enough mental strength to wrench the weapon out of their hands and back into their face. 

But he doesn’t have to find out, because a shot fires in the air and before Minho knows it the figure is turning to block the bullet, and Minho takes the opportunity to roll out of the path of danger.

“Hey, goth dude!”

Minho doesn’t know whether to laugh with joy, or cry with despair. _That voice…_

It’s the high, annoying tone of none other than Jisung.

A growl tears through the air. “I don’t even _know_ what goth is!” the figure cries. 

More shots. The figure dances away from them, and away from Minho. Slowly, the two circle each other, the figure holding up his spear, Jisung holding up the gun, both tensed for an attack at any moment. An impasse. Soon, Jisung reaches Minho.

“When I count to three, run like all hell,” Jisung hisses to Minho.

Minho straightens in confusion, but crouches in preparation anyway. “What about you-”

“I’ll cover for you!” Jisung snaps back. “Two, three!”

Minho blinks for a second, before running like all hell. “You didn’t even say ‘one’!” he exclaims, sprinting down the direction from which he came, all which gunshots echo from his back. “You’re supposed to count from one!”

“Whoever set that stupid rule?” Jisung retorts. “And don’t complain, I’m saving your ass for like, the third time today.”

“Ex _cuse me_?” But Minho can’t say much else because the air feels like it’s being constricted from his lungs, and his muscles are starting to ache up a storm.

“What are you waiting for? Let’s go!” Jisung hollers, sprinting ahead of him and firing another shot. Easy for him to say, he isn’t the one who just moved at least twenty large asteroids in one go. Minho winces when he hears something explode behind him. 

“ _Yeet_!” Jisung screams. Minho winces harder.

If Minho's chase hadn't already drawn attention, Jisung's tussle certainly finishes the job. All around them doors open and indignant shouts follow their backs. Minho tries his best to slam all the doors back in their faces before any real retaliation can be started. He can’t deal with more trouble than necessary now.

Said sufficient trouble is currently catching up with the duo with every step. Minho notes with slight annoyance that they’re taller than both Jisung and Minho. Well, if they’re tall…

At a fork in the road, Minho spots a clothesline waving in the breeze. “Jisung, left!” he barks. The boy obeys obediently, veering towards the line and ducking under it. Minho soon follows after, but before the dark figure can limbo under, Minho detaches the line and lets it wrap around the figure’s lankier limbs, concentrating enough to tie a neat knot before dashing off once more. A growl of frustration reaches his ears, leaving a twinge of satisfaction in Minho’s gut. But he knows it won’t hold them for long, so he doesn’t stay to gloat about his small victory. He continues running.

Jisung is still bounding in front of him, but it’s clear from his panting and flushed face that even he’s starting to tire. Hastily, Minho tries to formulate a backup plan once the two run out of energy. It would inevitably lead to confrontation again, but how would Minho be able to escape without exposing his abilities? Minho sincerely hopes, for the first time, that Jisung’s rascal habits will be able to get them out of this predicament. Speaking of Jisung...

Minho presses a little harder to catch up. “Han!” he yells while the two swerve around an innocent crate. “What are you even doing here! Aren’t you supposed to be in the _Broken Compass_?”

“Is this _really_ the biggest of your concerns now?” Jisung yells back.

 _Fair enough_ . He’ll have to interrogate Jisung on that later. If there even _is_ a later.

“Chan and Changbin are gonna be really pissed if they find out you pulled this stunt off!”

“Yeah, well, they’re always pissed.” Jisung swiftly ducks under an overhanging shelter. “It doesn’t matter, they won’t be mad enough to kick me off or anything.”

Minho keeps quiet. 

Jisung glances at Minho. “Oh fuck,” he said awkwardly. “Sorry.”

A laser bullet lands near Minho’s heel, making him jump a foot into the air. “I’ll get you back for that later, brat,” he bites. “Run faster!”

“I’m _trying_!” Jisung retorts. “Does it look like these twigs were built for stamina?”

“They’d better be if you want to stay alive, Han!” Minho barks, but he can feel his own muscles screaming in protest and knows he doesn’t have much longer either. “Please tell me you have some kind of pirate-y scheme to get us out of this. You guys must run from the law a lot, right?”

“Yes,” Jisung pants, “but officers don’t typically have creepy encrypted voices and freaky spears! And we usually manage to lose them after, like, ten blocks.” They make another turn, but they don’t halt. “We’ve ran for fifteen!”

Another laser bullet is fired, this time near Jisung. Except… it came from above them. Minho chances a glance upwards. Horror surges in him as he realises the dark figure is back on the roofs, jumping from building to building and making marginally more progress than he and Jisung are on the ground avoiding all the obstacles. 

Minho’s eyes narrow, making the cape swirl around their legs in hopes of making them trip… but they jump right over the swinging fabric. The horror is replaced with irritation as Minho recalls the exact same phenomenon occurring in the asteroid belt. Great. Their mysterious antagonist has freakishly good reflexes.

Jisung yells and Minho’s eyes instantly dart over to the boy, only to find that he’s tripped over a protruding rock and has tumbled to the floor. “Han!” he yells, dashing over to pull Jisung up. “Asteria, why are you so clumsy? Come on, let’s go-”

“Too late.”

Jisung freezes mid-crouch as a sharp blade is aimed right at his head. Reluctantly, Minho’s eyes trace up the sparking weapon, up the dark gloves, the thick black sleeves, the imposing obsidian cape, to the filtered mask of the spear’s handler.

A chuckle emits from the filter, cracked and resonant. “And for the record, I took offence to your assumption that I was a Blade. Let me formally introduce myself.” The spear rotates, from Jisung, to Minho, tracing up his chin, until the cool metal rests at his neck, barely touching his jugular. Minho dares not even breathe. 

Above Minho, the cape appears even more intimidating, a harbinger of sure doom. They stand tall, composed, poised, nothing like the characteristic cockiness of a Blade. 

The hooded figure tilts their head. “Hello. I am I.N. And _you_ , Lee Minho, are my prisoner.”

* * *

For a second, everything falls still. Not even Jisung’s defiant spirit is manifesting, replaced with utter shock and helplessness.

Minho once again contemplates forgetting all the precautions he’s taken thus far and unleashing his powers in the open simply to fish for a trump card. The moment certainly seems hopeless enough for one final unexpected surprise-

I.N abruptly straightens. Their keen eyes seem to have caught on to the cunning in Minho’s irises. “I don’t like doing this,” I.N says, “but make one move,” The spear moves once more and Minho can breathe easy again… until his breath catches when it rests at the tip of Jisung’s throat instead, “and he gets it.”

Jisung visibly shakes beneath the weapon. Minho tries to summon the courage to do something, _anything_ , in spite of the threat at Jisung. But… there is primal fear in the boy’s eyes, as much as he attempts to conceal it, quenching any fire that once was. Knowing that Jisung’s fate rests in his hands, Minho finds that he cannot bring himself to retaliate. He allows himself to slump in defeat.

I.N’s eyes gleam with rugged victory.

And then, from behind Minho; the softest hiss, and a pop. Smoke creeps up around the walls, almost serpentine in their nature, sneaking and snaking their way around every inch of ground, seeking to obliterate any hint of visibility. I.N makes an audible noise of confusion, which leads to Minho furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. They hadn’t seen this coming? That could mean…

Another hand grabs Minho’s arm, making him jolt in surprise, but through the smoke he can’t tell who it is. There’s sounds of a struggle somewhere in front of him. Frustration wells up in Minho, hot and irritated, as he desperately tries to figure out what’s happening. Who are these people? Are they Blades? Why would Blades use smoke bombs?

The arm starts dragging him away, and he fights back, there’s still Jisung, and I.N nearby, who knows what could happen-

"Come with me!" a voice hisses sharply into Minho’s ear, a mellow baritone, commanding in its tone. Minho doesn't recognise it. “It’s for your own safety!”

 _Safety?_ Minho’s mind races. Is this a rescue? What are the odds that that was a lie? He wrenches his head around to get a better view of his supposed saviour, but all he sees is a dim blue glow through the smog. The hand tugs more insistently, leaving an exhausted Minho with no other option but to stumble along.

“But-” he exhales, “Han- Ji-”

Minho “saviour” doesn’t stop marching forward. Minho still can’t see, his visibility has been veritably eliminated by the smoke even as they move farther from the source. “Who?”

“The other boy!” Minho snaps back, resisting their pull as much as he can. “We need to get him too!”

A heavy sigh. Some muffled muttering. Then, “My companion is fetching him.”

It doesn't do much to placate Minho, but it's all he can work with. So, clueless and blind, he acquiesces to the forceful tugging on his arm.

With every step, the smoke clears, giving Minho a clearer visual on his situation. When he glances around, it seems that they’ve entered a back alley. No witnesses. Next, he attempts to identify who exactly has "rescued" him, but it proves fruitless. Just like I.N, he’s wearing a dark hooded cloak that envelopes his body, lined with a gold-rimmed fringe of similar black fabric. But, unlike I.N, when he glances back at Minho, his face is uncovered. Minho manages to catch a glimpse of a bright blue gleam, and a gold chain lacing the cloak shut. Huh. A golden chain.

“Who are you?” Minho demands. If he’s being dragged into yet another political ploy, he at least needs to know his enemies. “Where are you taking me? Does this concern the bounty on my head?”

“If you must know,” he replies curtly, “yes. This does concern the bounty on your head. And all you need to know of me is that we intend to collect.”

 _We_? Right, he had a partner. Minho has been taken by a pair of bounty hunters.

 _This is splendid,_ Minho thinks irritatedly. First the Blades, then I.N, then this dynamic duo. He may as well be a pawn, constantly changing hands to everyone else’s pleasure.

Sounds of a scuffle ring in the distance, of what Minho guesses must be the other bounty hunter’s tussle with I.N. Some gunshots, faint shouting, more gunshots. With Minho cooperating less reluctantly, they draw steadily farther, but Minho can only hope that Jisung has somehow been saved from I.N’s relentless grasp.

The bounty hunter suddenly cocks his head, as if listening out for something. “Your friend’s safe,” he reports stonily. “But my partner had to take a detour to shake your opponent.”

A weight lifts off Minho’s chest and he silently breathes out. “Okay,” he says, “now that my _companion_ is settled...”

Swiftly he yanks backwards, forcing the cloaked bounty hunter to stumble into him. With one fell swoop he wraps his arm around the bounty hunter’s throat despite him being taller than Minho, trapping him in a chokehold. Minho’s other hand comes up to quickly pull down the hood, revealing bright blue streaks that seem to glow amongst the dark hair. A growl of irritation emanates from the bounty hunter. So he _can_ be shaken after all.

Still reeling from his adrenaline, Minho spots the bounty hunter’s hand moving before it reaches its target. He grabs that hand, obstructing its next move, and as for the other hand, the bounty hunter would find it suspiciously paralysed. Now, Minho has complete control. A slight thrill of relief runs down his spine.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” he murmurs lowly into the bounty hunter’s ear, where he peers to observe an implant behind it; that must be what he was using to receive comms. Sliding his arm around the hunter’s ear, he detaches it, preventing the bounty hunter from calling for backup. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t asphyxiate you right now, and leave you for dead.”

A grunt. “If you let me move my _hand_ ,” the bounty hunter grumbles, “I can retrieve what I was originally reaching for, and prove that I mean no harm.”

“I can do that myself, thank you very much.” Minho extends his senses, resisting the twinge of pain he receives as backlash. His mind still hasn’t recovered from the asteroid belt. He’ll have to thank I.N for that. He scrounges through the bag, bypassing the blaster, the miscellaneous supplies, until…

Minho inhales softly. “Asteria...” he breathes out. Resting dormant in the bounty hunter’s pouch, tucked away in a pocket, is the same exact ring he left with Chan. And if Han is still on this planet…

His grip tightens drastically, causing a strangled gasp to escape the bounty hunter. “Why do you have the ring?” Minho nearly yells.

The bounty hunter involuntarily struggles against Minho’s chokehold, but the rage that flows through Minho’s veins win out against the other’s desperation. “Found it,” he croaks out, “with a pirate crew. We were sent… by your father… to bring you back. Tracked your trail to… to those scoundrels. During our raid… you’d already escaped and we found this ring on the captain.” He takes another deep breath. “You only _threatened_ to choke me, _Lee Minho_ ,” he hisses. “Please cease at once.”

With each word, dread piles more and more in Minho’s stomach. “Asteria’s arse… you colossal idiot!” Minho nearly yells. He doesn’t loosen his grip one bit. “Where is this crew now?”

“At…” the bounty hunter wheezes out, “at our ship. With our associate. You… should be familiar with him.”

Finally, Minho loosens his grip. The bounty hunter instantly scrambles away, shoving his hood over his head and concealing his azure locks. “Bring me there at once,” Minho commands.

In the dim light, the bounty hunter rolls his eyes. “Yes, that was the original plan, but if you _insist_ so much…” He bows, raising his arms in an usher. “This way, Your Highness,” he says mockingly.

Minho’s blood boils, and for once, it isn’t because of his circumstances. _Bastard_.

“I should have asked for your name while I could still choke you so I can curse you out now,” Minho grouses, as he starts walking.

The bounty hunter catches up with Minho’s angry strides in no time. “My name?” he says smugly. “I’m afraid that’s confidential, Your Highness.” He meets Minho’s eyes. “For completely personal reasons.”

Minho resists the urge to punch the daylights out of him. “From now on,” he fumes, “I’m addressing you by insults only.”

Asshole just shrugs. “Fine by me.” He faces Minho again, this time holding an expectant hand out. “I believe you took something from me?”

Minho grips the implant resting cool against his palm. “Only if you give what you took from me,” he says stubbornly.

A terse exchange later, Minho trails after the bounty hunter, who’s obviously making use of his longer legs and increasing the distance between the two of them with each step.

“ _Useless toenail_ ,” Minho mutters under his breath, hurrying his pace to catch up.

The ship was well-hidden, Minho has to begrudgingly admit. Imbecile had to warn Minho of several booby traps that were apparently lying around the vicinity as they approached, all cleverly hidden even as a _temporary measure_ . Although, Minho did trigger a trap that apparently entailed a _horrid_ smell permeating the air and making Minho feel like his sinuses were burning up from the inside out. The Villain had insisted that he’d forgotten to warn Minho, but Minho would bet his entire fortune and _more_ that it had been omitted on purpose. 

Still, Minho reaches the ship in one piece, foul-smelling and enraged, but alive. The ship in itself is also, once more grudgingly admitted, a very beautiful vessel, a medium-sized frigate of similar size to the _Broken Compass_ . with a stunning violet-cobalt blend on its exterior, accompanied with a sleek, streamlined design. Definitely built for speed and agility. Right before Minho walks up the entry ramp, he spots the name, _Booster_.

When Minho enters the cargo bay, someone starts squirming in his chair, making muffled noises. That someone turns out to be Changbin, who appears to have been… gagged. Chan just glares on, mouth free but silent. The two appear to be bound to chairs by some very thick rope.

And sitting on the crates nearby, one long gangly leg dangling from the edge, with a spear that almost mirrors the one that I.N wielded, is none other than-

“Hwang Hyunjin!” Minho snaps, causing the boy to startle enough to fall from his perch on the crates and land in a flurry of purple cloth with an ungraceful _thump!_ “Release them at once!”

Hyunjin, in typical Hyunjin fashion, just blinks up owlishly at him, and not for the first time, Minho wondered how he ever was seen as capable enough to be his personal guard. “But Lee Know,” he says oh-so-innocently, “we found them with your ring in their possession. They _kidnapped_ you. And you want me to set them free?”

“No, they _rescued_ me!” Minho snaps, marching over to the two pirates, fully intending on undoing the ropes himself if he has to. “I gave them my ring as a token of gratitude, not to be used against them in an erroneous heist!”

He starts by pulling the gag out of Changbin’s mouth. Upon being granted once more the freedom of speech, the first thing out of the fiery mechanic’s mouth is, “Where’s Han?”

Minho raises an eyebrow, pulling back to make Changbin see his unimpressed expression. “Not even a thank you?”

Changbin honest-to-Selene _growls_ from the back of his throat. “ _Thank you_ ,” he grits out, “for getting us captured by this band of no-good boltbrains, getting us tied up and me _gagged_ , and for making us lose our youngest crewmate, completely by _your fault_. Happy?”

Minho raises his eyes skywards once more, wondering why fate just can’t give him a break. He switches sides. “I’m untying the captain first.”

“What Gear _means_ ,” Chan says as Minho works on the knot, giving Changbin a firm nudge, “ is to thank you for untying us, and proving our innocence in front of your associates. _Right, Gear_?”

“No I didn’t-” Changbin starts to argue. 

Chan shakes free of his bonds and grabs the gag from Minho’s hand, shoving it back into Changbin’s mouth.

“Thank _you_ ,” Hyunjin says, in the midst of untying Changbin. “He’d only been ungagged for twenty seconds and I was already getting tired of his whining.”

Changbin makes more sounds of protest, but they’re all in vain as the gag stays in his mouth. Once he wrenches his hands free, he yanks the gag out again and seethes, “You still haven’t answered my question: where’s Han?”

“Relax, hothead,” the Degenerate says from where he’s reclining on the crates Hyunjin was sitting on not long ago. “He’s with my partner, they’re currently on the way here.”

“Oh, you mean the one that messed up my customisation of _the entire ship_ and turned all the light settings _pink_?” Changbin practically fumes. “If Han comes back with anything short of a scratch, he’s going to wish he never even step foot on that ship-”

“Speaking of, though,” Hyunjin pipes up, playing with the tip of his spear with his finger, “Sirius, where’s Fortuna? He must have been right behind you.”

Witless Fool- _Sirius_ , tilts his head and murmurs something, probably the implant on his ear. “They’re nearly here,” he announces. “They’ve managed to shake whoever was chasing Minho and your beloved Han, they should reach at any moment.”

Changbin gapes incredulously at Minho, and even Chan stares wide-eyed at him. “You two were _chased_ by someone?” Changbin roars. “What the fuck are you thinking-”

“Shouldn’t we be making preparations to leave?” Hyunjin interrupts loudly, already immune to the mechanic’s yelling. He grabs his staff and approaches Minho, posture suddenly formal and upright. Minho has to admit, the dark-haired boy does look dashing in his lilac shawl and baby blue sash. And with the spear in his hand the _proper_ way, he exudes the power of a warrior.

Sirius pushes himself off the crates and gives a short stretch. “Yes, I agree,” he calls. “I would really like to collect on that reward your father promised us. Once Fortuna returns, we’re leaving.”

“Wait,” Minho protests, glancing back at Chan and Changbin. “We have to drop them off at their own ship first,” he orders. “Ditching them with I.N still at large is not an option.”

With a sigh Hyunjin stands in front of Minho, face impassive yet imploring. “Your only option right now, is to listen to your father’s decree. And His Majesty decreed that it is imperative you return to home on Levanter as soon as possible. I’d like to believe it’s for a good reason, Your Highness.”

Now, Changbin’s mouth drops open for a different reason. He eyes Minho once more, disbelief written all over his face. “ _His Majesty?_ _Your Highness_?”

“What-” Chan splutters. “But that means-”

“You’re a prince,” a voice says quietly from the entrance. Minho’s eyes widen at its familiar lilt, and he whirls around to find-

“You’re a prince,” Jisung echoes softly, voice muted yet so resonant in Minho’s ears. “I should have _known_ from the golden chains.” He meets Minho’s eyes, and Minho can see hurt glint fresh in his irises. “You’re the prince of Levanter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D hope yall enjoyed that ride
> 
> if yall want clues as to who the bounty hunters are... fortuna means luck and sirius is a star commonly known as the dog star.
> 
> honestly i'm just praying that everything holds together because there are SO MANY things i could add to the plot but there are inconsistencies abound and i am but a flawed writer grappling with a universe far too big for her :")
> 
> on another note, STRAY KIDS!! COMEBACK!!! TODAY!!!! i simply cannot WAIT to lose my heckin MIND over every single one of them,, they've come so far and i ADORE the oriental power rangers teaser they released. watch that develop into another au i definitely do no have the time to handle
> 
> and finally, the BIGGEST BIRTHDAY SHOUTOUT TO JISUNG BUT ALSO FELIX AND SEUNGMIN EVEN THOUGH IT'S NOT TECHNICALLY THEIR BIRTHDAYS BUT I DON'T HAVE A BACKUP FIC TO UPLOAD FOR THEM SO THEY'RE TOSSED ALONG TOO. i just came off my own birthday high (i'm on my third day of being sixteen, i hear it's not fun 😔) and we still have the rest of virgo line to go!! september baby solidarity hell yea >:D
> 
> if i've forgotten anything,, i will add it in later in a panicked mess and pretend it was always there. 
> 
> thank you to everyone who's supporting this flaming ball of an au!!! your comments make my DAY and definitely makes bringing these characters to life worth it. please take care of yourselves, stay safe, and stream back door <3 
> 
> [i sometimes rant about my space au on twitter,,](https://twitter.com/straycelestials)


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